


A cat on the dead dragons throne

by ReZeta



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 30,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23709964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReZeta/pseuds/ReZeta
Summary: An alternative universe where Joffrey is not an inbred piece of shit, but a rather smart guy in one of the worst positions possible. Sane!Joffrey and war with Renly with no magical bullshit.
Relationships: Joffrey Baratheon/Margaery Tyrell, Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark
Comments: 26
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

“Although I am the head of state, in truth I am the least,

The true King knows his people fed, before he sits to feast.

The good King knows his people safe, before he takes his rest,

Thinks twice and thrice and yet again, before he makes request.”

Robert Baratheon is dead and the great game changes.

Overnight Joffrey feels those changes. He is the prince no longer. He is the king. The reigning monarch. King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. First of his name. A lion of the throne forged by dragons.

He knew that day will come. He was bred and schooled for it, like every prince before him. And yet the day when his father left his last breath was not the day of glory as he expected it to be.

Small Council meeting was filled with nervousness and ire. It was not his first council meeting, far from it, and yet… He sat in the king's chair for the first time in his life. It felt different. It had a new sense in it, too.

Overnight things changed. Master of Ship was absent, as was his habit. Master of Laws was absent too. And that was unforgivable.

“Queen Regent?”

His mother, his beautiful and cunning mother, looked at him inquiringly. She did not flinch, faced with his anger - and that was a problem all in itself.

“Your grace?”

“Would you kindly explain where is lord Renly?”

Her eyes did not show a single hint of understanding. It was maddening.

“He left the city two days ago, along with his knights and household, your grace.”

He knew it. He could not do anything about it then. He could now.

“Why is he still alive?”

His mother winced.

“Your grace?”

“You had all money of Lannisters and the most corrupt head of the Gold Cloaks since the city was built.” Joffrey could barely keep a hold on his anger. “And you had allowed Renly Baratheon to leave the city. Along with his knights and household.”

He did not shout, yet. But it took all of his self-control not to. Cersei jerked, feeling his anger.

“We were busy handling lord Stark, your grace.”

And it was her saving grace. He loved her - he truly did. But he could not afford to tolerate incompetence, not now of all times.

“Lord Stark, who’s the oldest son is now calling his Banners.” He looked at the Varys. The old eunuch was silent, inspecting him with his gaze. “What would Lord of the Twins want for his support?”

“Lord of the Twins? That ancient freak?” Cersei wondered. “What do you want from him?”

He indulged her.

“Stark does not have a navy. He will need to cross the Green Fork if he wants to get his army to the South.”

Varys nodded.

“I afraid lord Frey is not known for his bravery, your grace. He waited until the end during your father’s rebellion.”

He did not want to refuse his idea so easily.

“And did not get anything out of it, while Tully prospered.”

“It is true, your grace.” Varys eyes were wary. “If you insist, I would say lord Frey would give a lot to bring his house upbringing.”

“Wouldn’t we all?” Joffrey chuckled. “Send your best spy, Lord Varys. I need the lord of the Crossing on my side. Offer him whole Riverland, if you need to. And keep it at secret.”

Old eunuch bowed.

“It will be done, your grace.” Varys smiled. His smile was thin and fake, like everything about the man. “But I am no lord.”

Joffrey smiled in return.

“And hereby I, Joffrey Baratheon, king of the Iron Throne, first of his name, grant to the Master of Whisperers Varys the lordship over the Claw Isle and city of Sweetport Sound.”

Those were lands of his uncle bannermen. Stannis Baratheon was too bitter and too principled to accept him on the throne. He would have to be dealt with. Joffrey would have thrown the whole Dragonstone at the eunuch, gods know, he needed the man on his side. But Dragonstone was too significant to give up, even for one generation.

“Thank you, your grace.”

He nodded.

“Also, send a message to the lord Tywin. It is his war and I need his counsel.”

If this plot turned out to be a success, they would be able to either stop Stark from joining his forces with the Riverlands, fighting them one by one, or to cut the wolf from supply lines. His grandfather will know better.

It left only Tyrells left.

“What did Renly offer to the Tyrells?”

“I can not be sure, your grace, but…”

“You are not sure? You are the spymaster of the Iron Throne. I expect to hear facts, not guesses.”

Varys nodded.

“Noted, your grace.” Eunuch bowed again. “As you might remember, not so long ago lord Renly brought with him to the court Margaery Tyrell. He wished too…”

Eunuch’s eyes glanced toward the window queen.

“Offer her to my father, I know.”

Varys nodded.

“There are whispers of the upcoming marriage, your grace. Between lord Renly and lady Margaery. He also took her brother as a member of his personal guard.”

“Tell Tyrells that there is no need in bloodshed if they want to see their daughter on the throne.” Joffrey sighed. “Offer them marriage and a place in the proper Kingsguard for their boy.”

Varys blinked.

“With due respect, your grace, I doubt they will accept your generous offer. With your grandfather as your hand, they will exchange the first place in the court for the second.”

“Which is why you will also offer them the positions of the Master of Ships and the Master of Laws. The debts, that Crown owes to the house Tyrell, will be also repaid in full during this year.”

“War is an expensive venture, your grace.”

“More expensive than peace, however fragile it might be.”

Varys bowed once more.

“And your betrothed, lady Sansa?”

“Give her to Tommen, at least until the war is over. He is a child and we don’t have to consummate it anytime soon.”

“It would be done, your grace.”

Joffrey nodded.

“Now, for the possible siege and war preparations…”

It would be a long and hard day and even harder conversation in the evening.

But he was the king now. And it was worth it.

***

Varys was right, of course. War truly is an expensive affair. War on three fronts is almost unforgivably so. And Iron Throne treasury was lying in ruins, deeply indebted to almost every significant power in the realm.

Truly, a mantle of the beggar king would have suited his father more than the title of Conqueror. Aegon was the Conqueror. He came to the continent divided and forged it into a realm that stood for three hundreds of years. That stood even after the dragons were lost to history.

And now he was the king. Cladded in debts, sitting on the throne forged from the swords of his ancestors. With four of the seven kingdoms in an open rebellion and only one ally. He could almost hear the laugh of the Mad King. Son of his nemesis turned out to be in the same position as he was. Worse, actually. Mad King had Martells and Tyrells on his side.

He was a cat on the throne of dead dragons.

Robert hated the dragons. It made the only natural for Joffrey to look into their history. Out of spite, if anything. In a court filled with liars, flatterers, and mediocrities long-dead Targaryen kings were his only company.

Aegon forged the realm with the Balerion’s flame. Maegor put the faith on a leash. Jaehaerys bonded it with roads and trade. Rhaenyra burned it to ash. Aerys finally lost what was left.

He doubted the realm would survive his rule. North was all but lost. Riverlands would be turned to ash, in one way or another. Dorn was quiet for now, too weak to fight without help from the dunes and the sun, but only for now. The price that he would have to pay to the Tyrells for peace would make his hold on them nonexistent.

King for a day, that is all he was. King in nothing but name.

“I do not trust Varys.”

Cersei’s voice was quiet and nonchalant. She knew how to hide her true feelings well.

“Neither do I.”

She looked at him, with a question in her eyes.

“You sounded very… trusting on the small council meeting.”

There were sorrow and disapproval in her voice.

“No man that served to more than one king can be trusted. Arryn had him by the balls. I do not.” Joffrey sighed. “All orders I gave to him I also sent to the lord Tywin and lord Kevan.”

If Varys would decide to sabotage him, he would know.

“I see,” Cersei whispered, with a gentle smile. “I am proud of you.”

He doubted it. And did not see any reason to delay the unpleasant part of the conversation any longer.

“I need you to leave the King's Landing.”

He told in a hard, uncompromising voice. Or at least he hoped he did.

“What? I will not leave you here!” Cersei screamed.

He was not impressed.

“Take Tommen and Myrcella and go the Casterly Rock.” He looked her in the eyes. Cersei was angry, but so was he. “City will be under the siege soon. If I win, you will be able to return safely. If I won’t, Casterly is the safest place for you to be in.”

“I will send Tommen and Myrcella there, but I will not leave, my lion. You need my advice in this pit of snakes!”

He did not. What he needed in upcoming weeks was masters of warfare - and what did she know about it.

“Leave the matters of war to me. They are not a concern of yours.”

He was the king, now. A man grown. It was his right and obligation to fight, to lead his man and to die in battle, face to face with the enemy. There was no place for his mother there.

“You can’t just order me to leave, Joffrey!”

There was confidence in her voice. A habit. To rule over him, to have the final saying. To undermine his authority. His power.

And he had way too little of both as it is.

“I can and I will.” He did not shout, going against his instincts. Man, that is heard only when he shouts is not a ruler. He is a merchant, offering his stock. “I am the king if you had forgotten. I will get you out of the city even if I will have to make the Kingsguard to escort you back to the Casterly Rock.”

The room fell into silence. He sat on the floor, half-lying on a bear hide. It was warm and soft, pleasantly rubbing against his fingers. He heard the bed squeak and raised his eyes.

Cersei bent closer to him. She was half-lying on his bed, with a glass of vine in her hands. She was clad in red, with the gold necklace around her neck. Her dress was light, almost enough to be called a chemise. Her hair was unpinned from its nets to spool in gleaming gold curls across her shoulders and the fine skin at her collarbone.

Light played on her long legs.

She was beautiful. There were no other words about it.

She noticed his glance. A thin, barely visible, satisfied smirk appeared on her lips.

“You are right, my king.” Cersei barely whispered. Her voice was low, so low he had to lean closer to hear her clearly. “I beg you for forgiveness.”

Her look changed. Smuggish self-confidence left. There was something different in her eyes now. Something he could not interpret.

“How would you wish me to make up for my transgression?”

She leaned even closer to him, now. She was sweet-smelling and lovely, lying in his bed almost naked. Her dress somehow became even less covering than it was before. From here he could see her neck and top of her breasts through the neckline. Her rather short skirt exposed her legs to his eyes.

“My wish?” Joffrey felt his words stumble in his throat. “What can I wish?”

He dumbly asked. His brain suddenly stopped working. Cersei laughed, smiling.

“Anything, your grace.” She leaned down, on the level of his eyes. Her lips almost touched his. He could smell the wine on her breath. “You are the king, are you not? King can wish for anything.”

She wasn't taking her eyes off his. She looked satisfied and strangely confident.

It was a sight born out of some of his fevered dream. The most forbidden lady of the King’s Landing, almost naked, in his bed. The queen of Iron Throne. Woman of the king. His woman, now. Since he was the king starting from today. He had almost forgotten that little fact.

That was…

He was the prince for most of his life. Few things are forbidden for a royal family, even less of those are forbidden for the crown prince. Even fewer people. But she? She was damn forbidden. From the taboos of the faith to her position in the court, second only to the king himself, there was no way in seven hells he would have ever had her. Robert would have probably broken his head with a hammer after a single hint on his attempt to get her.

Until now. But not any longer. Because Robert was dead. Because he was the king now. And she was a dowager queen. Meaning she was under his authority. Meaning she was his.

His to have. His to take. His to keep. His to fuck. How often had he spilled into his own hands with such imaginings?

Cersei wasn’t taking her eyes off him. She looked satisfied and strangely entertained.

Joffrey shook his head violently.

“You… Are you…”

He couldn’t move back. He should have. He could have. But green, almost emerald eyes kept him in place. She was looking at him, evaluating him.

He felt warm, wet lips on his, but before he managed to pull into the kiss it was over. Cersei stood from the bed, smiling. Her eyes were beaming with playful arrogance.

“I will arrange my leave to the Casterly Rock, your grace.”

And with that, she left. He heard the door clothing, leaving his alone, aroused and out of breath.


	2. Stark

“Lord Stark.”

He entered the room, nodding to ser Jaime. He was guarding the prisoner with a company of lesser guards. Joffrey was not taking any chances.

“Joffrey.”

Eddard Stark, lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North and former Protector of the Realm met him with an empty look. The man sat in a chair, reading. The room was closer to a solar than to a prison cell.

He expected Eddard to be grateful. It was not the case.

“It is ‘your grace’ or ‘your majesty’, now.”

Stark chuckled.

“Do you expect me to bend the knee?”

“It would be helpful, yes.”

Eddard had sharp grey eyes and dark brown hair. Joffrey expected his smirk to be wolfish, taunting. There was none of it to be found.

“It will not happen, I afraid.”

Joffrey nodded. He expected to hear that.

“Your son had called the banners.”

Eddard slowly nodded. If anything, he looked sad.

“Than war it is.”

“It mustn’t be. You still may return to the north, safe and with your daughters intact.”

Eddard smiled.

“And what would be the price?”

Grey eyes gazed at him, ever doubtful.

“Neutrality.”

“Neutrality?” Eddard looked surprised. “Just neutrality?”

He nodded.

“Just neutrality. You will recall the banners. North will not involve itself in the troubles of the South.” He looked him in the eyes. “I need the Riverlands and the North out of the picture, lord Stark. Nothing more. Name your price.”

There was silence. Then the lord of the north shook his head.

“There is nothing you can give.”

He expected that. To be clearer, Barristan expected that and warned him. And yet…

“Why?” He asked. “You have your and your daughters lives on one side of the deal, and execution and death for your people on the other. There is nothing to be earned through the war, no new king will give you anything of value compared with the losses. Why do you choose the latter?”

Eddard did not answer. He looked back at the book, ignoring his presence completely. Joffrey felt his anger rising. But it was not his rage that annoyed him. It was the incomprehension of Eddards motives.

He understood Stannis, jealous, suppressed and hungry for power. He understood Renly who got a chance of his life. He understood the Robb Stark motives, even if he wouldn’t have started a war to free his father himself. But Eddard Stark? He did not understand the man. Not for a bit.

“You need only to give me an oath. You will be released right after.”

“And why would you believe my oath?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why would you trust my oath, Joffrey?” Stark smiled. “I will not allow you to keep my daughters as hostages.”

Because there would be no reason for him to wage a war after that. And…

“Because you are Eddard Stark.”

A man that does not break his oaths. Barristan and Jaime believed it. He could not understand it but could trust their judgment. A word, given by the Eddard Stark, would be held.

“And this is why I will not give you such an oath.”

Joffrey sighed. It was useless.

“Than what do you expect me to do, lord Stark? Do you have a death wish?”

Eddard shrugged. 

“You may execute me. Robb will come with the northern army soon after. You may sentence me to a Night Watch, but my son will come with the army regardless.” Eddard sighed. “You may let me go, and I will keep the banners and lead an army against you.”

“And in whose name would you send your man to die?”

“In the name of the rightful king, as I had sworn.”

“That is what you care about, Stark? Righteousness?” Joffrey exhaled. It was truly hopeless. “Is it righteous for you man to bleed and to die for the legitimacy of the Southern king? Is it righteous for the common folk to suffer from hunger, pillage, and rape during the war of your making?”

"And was it righteous of you to assist in the murder of the man you called father, Joffrey?"

That made him pause. 

"Righteous? No. Necessary? Yes. Robert wanted to denounce me and my kin as bastards and murder us to take a new wife. Would you expect me to accept such a fate?"

Stark looked him in the eyes.

"You still can renounce your claim for the throne and leave for the Casterly Rock." There was a hint of pity in the wolf eyes. "You are the oldest of Tywin's grandchildren and only heir. Isn't Westerlands enough for your ambitions?"

Joffrey sighed. 

"There are many Lannisters out there. Besides, Tywin will strangle me in my sleep and press for Tommen's claim."

"Than it is not the suffering of the common folk you are concerned with, Joffrey." Quietly answered Eddard. "Do not try to blame me for the war and suffering of your and your grandfather making."

Joffrey breathed. It did not work. It was time for truly desperate measures.

“Balon Greyjoy is recalling his captains to the Pyke. Ironborn are going to war.”

That got his attention. Greyjoy was an old enemy Eddard once fought. He was a danger the man could feel and evaluate.

“My condolences to Tyrells.”

Joffrey chuckled.

“Not this time, lord Stark. Tyrells have enough strength to hold the Shield Islands even during the war, and Westerlands are mostly mountains. Ironborn do not do well there.”

“I have full faith in my son's abilities and those of my bannermen.”

Joffrey smiled. He got him.

“They can not defend the North if they are locked beyond the Moat Cailin. And they will be, soon.” He chuckled. “Balon will strike in the very moment your man will leave their homes and put the North to a sword.”

Eddard was silent.

“Or it may not happen. Balon is ambitious but became reasonable after his rebellion was crushed. He may listen and attack the Reach.”

Eddard stared at him.

“And you would win regardless of the target.”

Joffrey simply nodded.

“I would.”

He had so many enemies that it did not matter who will hungry Ironborn strike at. Tyrells, Starks, Tully, even Dorn - all of them were his enemies. He was a king fighting against his realm.

“Protect your home, lord Stark. Keep your man alive. Let me, Renly and Stanis to solve this inheritance dispute among ourselves. There is no need for a new grand rebellion that will destroy the realm. I am not the Mad King, and you are not as young as you were back then.” Joffrey plead. “Long summer is almost over. Winter is coming, lord Stark. We can not afford such conflict. Please, help me to prevent it.”

There was silence. And then Stark nodded.

“I will think about it.”

When Joffrey left Stark's temporary solar he felt his hands shaking. Jaime looked at him, with a question in the eyes. Joffrey smiled.

"Allow lady Sansa to visit him."

He felt his first taste of victory.

***

It wasn’t his mother’s help that saved him. It wasn’t the court support. There was no shortage of idiots willing to indulge crown prince with anything. As strange as it sounds, but it was Robert.

He was barely five winters old and was torturing puppies - not from any real malice. He simply enjoyed watching others in pain. He did it quite often back then. Dogs, cats, birds - anything that could bleed was welcome.

He did not remember when the talks about the new mad king started, or from whom he heard them. It was some servant, too insignificant to stay in his memory. But Robert noticed the gossips. They angered him, as everything that reminded him of the dragons did.

That was the time Joffrey heard about their predecessors. That was the time for Joffrey to find his saving grace.

Targaryens, kings of old, were born dragon-like. Their temper and ferocity were legendary. It was similar to his curse. Not the same, his curse was different - he had no wish to conquer the whole world and felt no special affiliation to fire. His curse was catlike.

He loved the blood and pain. He enjoyed hunting, cutting, slashing and feeling someone's blood on his hands. He savored his victim's despair.

He needed to hunt. To kill. He needed to make someone suffer.

Targaryens wouldn’t have held the Iron Throne for three centuries if they hadn’t figure out the solution. The library of the Red Castle was the greatest treasure Joffrey had ever owned in his life. Robert cared not for the dusty old books and did not bother to cleanse the collection from the texts of Targaryen's time. Some of the works he found there he valued more than gold or gems.

Exercises for better self-control. Guides, rules, and meticulous explanations. How to act. When to act. How to keep the rage in the hold. How not to act in any situation.

It was not perfect - he was no dragon. His rage was different. But it was enough to spare him from the fate of the less fortunate dragons. After all, Aerion’s Brightflame example was right in front of his eyes.

It was hard to concentrate on the books, first. It still was hard sometimes, long after it became a habit. But in those books he saw more than idle stories of old - he saw examples. Grim prophecies of his fate.

Gods know, it would have been easy, all too easy to submit to it. No one cared about a servant or two, and there was no shortage in lackeys in the court that would be happy to cover his little hobby. His mother was the first of them, always ready to help.

Joffrey did not allow it. He put his rage on a short leash. Locked it in the iron cage of self-control, learned to distinguish socially acceptable from not. He spent nights and days counseling with priests and books of traditions and laws.

He still could not understand why people thought and felt the way they did. But he managed to simulate it. It was hard. Damn it was hard.

But old books showed all too well what happened with kings, princes, and lords that had allowed their rage to consume them.

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	3. Chapter 3

“I ordered you to call the banners. What is the answer?”

“Houses Hayford, Rykker and Edgerton answered, your grace. Also…”

Joffrey shook his head. The man spoke too hastily, nervously. He was trying to make the good news more visible.

“Who did not answer the call, Ronald?”

“Your grace, please…”

“I asked you who failed to answer my call.”

Man trembled. He was too scared of his anger and was wasting his time. It only made Joffrey angrier. Finally, the clumsy man whispered:

“Houses Chyttering and Farring, you grace.”

Meaning Chyttering Brook and Farring Cross. Castles on the border with Stormlands, that were guarding the kingsroad and roseroad. It was not a good sign. Not good at all.

“Varys?”

Eunuch sent him his best smile. Tiny and barely visible, it reminded him of a snake.

“Lords Gilbert Chyttering and Jeremy Farring had sent their representatives to the Bitterbridge.” Spymaster made a pause, making a show of his deep thoughts. If anything Joffrey knew about the man was true, he had all information about the lords in question lying on his table from the early morning. “They left with the lord Renly.”

Of course, they did. And of course, Varys did not make an attempt to subdue them. The eunuch was competent, frighteningly so, and far from loyal. In any other situation, it would have got him executed. Unfortunately, Joffrey needed the man and his intel like drowning man needs air.

Other than Varys his war council was all but useless. It was made of the eunuch, grand maester, brothel owner and two knights that never led an army. It was a good setup for a joke.

Robert court was filled with schemers and flatterers of all sorts, but there was not a single competent military commander to find in the whole Red Keep. Robert trusted himself and Arryn in the matters of war and both were dead now.

Renly had Randyll Tarly. Stannis himself was a veteran of the rebellion. Robb Stark had no shortage of skilled and experienced commanders. Joffrey had Barristan, an old knight that had never led a battle in his life, and Jaime Lannister, a man that got stuck on the bodyguard duty for far too long.

He needed Tywin, he needed Kevan, he needed any and all experienced commanders. And they were busy in the Riverlands, preparing for a needless war, wasting their time and his resources.

It was his first war and he did not have competent men to plan for him. Arys Oakheart and Balon Swann were good knights but never led more than twenty men. Mandon Moor was efficient at following the orders but was almost organically unable to lead.

It meant that he will inevitably make mistakes. He would be lucky if none of them would end up being crucial.

“How many men do they have?”

“Chyttering and Farring are small houses, your grace. I would have expected three hundred men from each. More if you decide to include the commoners in the number. ”

Not too much. Gold Cloaks by themselves would’ve been enough to end their threat… if only they had not been the border castles on the major roads. There was a reason why Renly counseled with their holders personally.

“How long it will take for the houses Hayford and Rykker to bring their men?”

Those were the closest major houses of the Crownlands. Rykker were still indebted for the Duskendale to Tywin, and Hayford lands were too far from the Renly’s forces to hope for his support.

“About a week, your grace.”

“Good. Order them to.” Joffrey thought for a moment. “Do we have enough supplies to sustain an army for a month?”

He was not going to stop on the Hayford and Rykker forces. There were minor houses on the way to the rebels: Langward, Pyle, Blount, Gaunt, and Bywater. He would also call for their support, but only with the army behind him.

He suspected it would be much harder to refuse the call from the liege when the said liege stands with his army right in front of your gates.

“We do, your grace. But it would not be enough to feed the gold cloaks at the same time.”

And it would weaken the city’s stocks before the inevitable siege.

“Minor lords and common folk will pay for it, then.” Joffrey sighed. “Their food will be taken by Renly’s army regardless. Better we do it first.”

“If you say so, you grace.”

It was the tone of Varys voice that made him reconsider.

“Ser Jaime, evaluate the city stocks and take enough to not make the burden on minor lords households unbearable.”

Joffrey hoped that years spent as an heir to the Casterly Rock left him with at least some degree of competence.

“Ser Barristan, take your time and pick the better half of the Gold Cloaks. I will take them as my personal guard.”

His trusted guards nodded. Not bowed. He let is slip this time. It was the privilege of the Kingsguard, after all.

“I must remind you, my lords, that time is of the essence. Stannis does not have enough men to march on the King’s Landing. He would need to kill Renly first, and he is gathering his troops in the Bitterbridge. It will keep him busy for some time.” Joffrey hoped it was true. “We have very little time to put the rebels down before they will join my uncle's forces.”

Chyttering and Farring were only the first swallows. They were not the lord paramount's of other kingdoms - they were his very own bannermen. Minor lords of the Crownlands, the backbone of his, not Tywin’s, forces.

If he will allow them to betray him without the consequences many will follow their example.

“Give the lords Chyttering and Farring one last chance to surrender and bend the knee.” Joffrey clenched his fists. “And when they refuse, send them a bard that knows the Rains of Castamere.”

They wanted to be an example of Renly’s supporters? He will turn them into such an example. Their castles will be burned to the ground, their households will be slaughtered, their loved ones will be raped and their lands will be given to his supporters. He will not tolerate treason.

Joffrey only hoped he would have enough time to put down the rebellion in his lands before it would become too late.

"The council is over. Please, my lords, put your time to good use." Joffrey smiled. "And lord Baelish? Please stay for a little longer."

\-----------------

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	4. Chapter 4

“You were unusually quiet during the last council meetings, lord Baelish.”

The man was short, well clothed, groomed and charming. Joffrey knew him well enough to not trust the appearance.

“I was enjoying your speeches, your grace. You are showing extreme skill in statesmanship."

Years spent in the royal court had taught Joffrey to hate flattery.

“Do I employ you to entertain you, lord Baelish?”

“Of course not, your grace.”

“Good. I was expecting to see your report two days ago. Imagine my surprise when I did not find it on my table.”

In truth, he did not expect it. For a couple of days, he forgot about Balish's existence entirely. 

“Forgive me, your grace. I did not want to bother you in such a hard time. And you proved yourself to be busy most of it.”

“I am grateful for your concerns, but they were futile. Please, feel free to bother me next time instead.”

Baelish sent Joffrey a cheerful smile.

“I will surely do.” The Master of Coin looked at him. “What do you want to know, your grace?”

“What any man wants to know about, lord Baelish? Tell me of my debts.”

“Crown currently owes over six million gold dragons to the houses Lannister, Tyrell, the Iron Bank of Braavos and the faith. I would expect your lord grandfather to show leniency, and the crown is currently in war with lord Mace Tyrell. It brings the debt down to a bit over one and a half million.”

Joffrey sighed. He expected it. He knew the numbers, being present at every meeting of the small council since the time he turned ten. The inability to influence anything was maddening.

“Your expectations are wrong, lord Baelish. Debts are called such because they are repaid.”

It made the man pause. He looked at him, like he sad something incredibly, almost offensively dumb. And then he understood. Petyr smiled, coyly.

“It would be rather complicated to find one and a half million gold dragons during the war.”

One and a half million gold dragons. His debt to Tyrells. Enough to build many castles and pay for their households and upkeep for years.

“What is the land's worth, lord Baelish?” 

Baelish looked at him, thinking.

“Are you meaning…” The man smiled again. “Ah. Of course, your grace. Castles Chyttering Brook and Farring Cross are rather small, but make a good profit from the trade tolls. Their locations are rather accommodating.”

“That was not my question, lord Baelish.”

The man made a pause, thinking. Joffrey knew it was a rather complicated question to ask. Land and lordships weren’t exactly free for sale or even transfer, and prices were far from fixed. One might even consider the very idea of land sale a sacrilege and dishonor.

Baelish was a noble that made himself a name by building brothels. Joffrey doubted it would be a problem with him.

“It depends on the state of the lands, your grace. War is a quiet price breaker.” He chuckled. “But I would say, a hundred thousand for both if they won’t end up too damaged.”

Joffrey nodded. The idea of cutting his domain was far from pleasing, especially considering the strategic location of the castles in question.

“What would be the value of the Bronzegate?”

It was the seat of house Buckler. The castle stood close to the kingsroad, between the Wendwater and Storm's End. A powerful lordship was one of the first to swear felty to Renly.

It was a mistake. A grave mistake.

“It is a major lordship, your grace. I doubt there is a suitable money evaluation.”

“Give your best guess.”

“A quarter of a million, your grace. By a very conservative estimate.”

Joffrey nodded.

“And Storm’s End? Does it worth one and a half million?”

Now that was a pause. Baelish finally understood his plan. Or at least made a show of understanding. It was not as complicated to figure out as the man made it seem.

“That’s… quiet a bargaining chip, your grace.”

“Renly will never accept me as a king. Stannis, too, is not known for being accommodating.” Joffrey sighed. “It leaves me and Tommen as the only male Baratheons alive, and he is the heir to the Casterly Rock. As a king, I will be expected to give up the Lord Paramountship.”

“And you want to sell the Stormlands to Tyrells?”

Joffrey grinned.

“Not to sell, lord Baelish. To grant. They can choose the next Lord Paramount, and he must not be Tyrell. I am sure they can find someone lenient to them, that will fit those restrictions.”

Such an offer was not something any lord could ever refuse. He would lose control over the Stormlands, but it is not like he ever had any.

“I see, your grace.”

Baelish was silent, deep in his thoughts. Joffrey sighed.

“You may voice your concerns.”

“Are you sure that lord Tywin will be… understanding with such turn of events?”

“Before Tyrells will have a chance to name the next lord paramount, the Crown will have to redistribute the lands of the traitors. Lord Hand will be directly involved, of course.”

Joffrey could not just give second Lord Paramountship to Tywin, he had far too much control over him as it was, but all lower titles were a fair game. Tywin may grab as much as he can chew, and Tyrells will have to fight for control over their new domain when at least half of its lands will be already filled with Lannister supporters. He will take some bordering lands, of course, but overall it will be their feast. And their fight.

Whoever will bring him Renly’s head can feel free to kill each other over the stag's body.

“I can see it working out, your grace.”

Joffrey smiled.

“Do you remember, what my lord grandfather did with his rebels?”

“Who doesn’t knows of the fate of the red lions from Castamere, your grace.”

“Stormlands are just too big to be left in ruins.” Joffrey smiled. “But the results must be the same. I want no rebellious house, however small, to be left untouched. I want the House Baratheon of Storm's End to perish. There is only House Baratheon of King's Landing now.”

Redistribution of the property will take all Tyrells and Lannisters time, and let him rule in peace. It will also leave them in constant need of his support. Joffrey always preferred the role of an arbitrator, not of a side of the conflict.

The room fell into silence. His plan was rather eccentric, but not unheard of. When Harwyn Hardhand led the ironborn on a conquest of the lands that will later be called the Riverlands, they had put many local houses to an end. Not all of them, but many. Aegon and Maegor did the same. And many Lords Paramounts had put down their rebellious vassals over the centuries. Tarbecks, Reynes, Greystarks, to name a few.

Joffrey was only raising an old custom to a new level. He was creating a profitable and acceptable target for his vassals.

Oppress a small group, and the majority will do almost anything to not join their ranks. Oppress everyone without a clear pattern and they will join their forces to kill you first.

Punish, as harshly as you want, your subject that breaks the rules. But only for an obvious, clear and generally acceptable reason. Encourage your vassals to play by the rules you set, not to break them.

That was the difference between a tyrant and a strict, but a fair king. That was what distinguished Maegor and Aerys from the Aegon. No king would have accepted the Conqueror's rule even after a thousand fields of fire had he burned his new vassals without a proper cause.

And if the war was imminent he would rather have the said war going against his enemy and by his bidding.

If he wanted for it to work he needed Renly to be left alone. Seven Kingdoms were too small to slaughter and digest the Reach and the Stormlands at the same. Even Stormlands by themselves would not be an easy target, even with three armies at his disposal.

He needed Tyrells on his side.

“You will need lord Mace on your side, your grace.”

“I know, lord Baelish. I know.” Joffrey sighed. “And it would be quite complicated to get him on my side.”

At least until Stark will agree for peace. He will be able to bring Tywin’s army on the Reach border then.

“Tell me, had Renly already married young Margaery?”

“He did, your grace. If he did not, he would this week.”

Damn. That was not what Joffrey wanted to hear. Suddenly, Baelish smiled.

“Lord Renly would not be able to sire an heir, your grace. I am sure the High Septon will consider it and call the marriage invalid. It wasn't consummated, after all.”

“You had just earned yourself another lordship, lord Baelish,” Joffrey smiled in return. “Make it as public as you can. I want every commoner and nobleman in the realm to gossip about it before the dusk.”

Baelish bowed.

“I am eager to please, your grace.”

“After you finish with it, give me a list of all people that lord Mace and lady Olenna hold in high regard.”

He will also assign Varys, Barristan, and Jaime the same task. They took part in the rebellion, and friendships are forged fast in the flame of war. He will need to choose the members of his envoy very carefully.

He will send them when Tywin will be knocking in the Tyrells gates, and the army of the Crownlands will be ready. Now he must pray for Stark’s common sense and Renly’s vanity. Knowing him, he would stay for a tourney in every castle on the way to King’s Landing.


	5. Chapter 5

«My lady mother is acting... strangely, lately.” Joffrey paused, trying to put his thoughts into words. “She does not want to leave the city despite the danger, and her manner of showing affection became... different.”

“I had noticed, your grace.”

It was a bad sign. If Barristan noticed, probably someone else had noticed it too. His money was on Varys. He hoped that gossips did not start yet.

“Good. Then answer me - why?”

Barristan was one of the very few people who knew about his curse. He also happened to be the only member of the Kingsguard Joffrey fully trusted. And he was old. So old he happened to serve in the household of more than one Targaryen king.

The man was a priceless source of information and support. Both as an advisor on human empathy and as a reputation holder.

Joffrey did not understand people. He did his best, but sometimes he couldn’t get their reasoning and some of the complicated emotions right. It did not matter how much he tried, he could not predict their reactions perfectly all of the time. Barristan could.

It was his advice that helped him to leave the fame of the new Mad King in early childhood.

Barrristan looked at him almost pitifully. He waited for a moment. Knight’s voice was quiet.

“Are you sure you want to know my opinion, your grace? It might not be to your liking.”

“Indulge me.”

Barristan sighed.

“Your mother will be the only figure of authority left in the city after you’ll leave.”

Ah. It made sense. 

“It is about power, then?”

“I afraid so, your grace.”

“I expected as much. Still...” He sighed. “I was hoping for a different reason. Never mind.”

There was very obvious pity in old knight eyes. Joffrey sighed again.

“Barristan?”

“Your grace?”

“Would you keep the city in one piece for me?”

There was silence. The old knight was thinking.

“Why not your uncle?”

“He will fail to control the dowager queen.” Joffrey elaborated. “He and ser Oakheart can protect me well enough, but I need a man I can trust in the city.”

“The queen can be sent to the safety of the Casterly Rock if that is what bothers you.”

Joffrey sighed. His uncle was many things, but trusted, respected or competent he was not. He was feared for his skill with the sword and Lannister's name, but that was about it.

“You are respected, Barristan. My uncle is not.”

The room fell into silence.

“I am no schemer, your grace.”

“Seven knows, there is no shortage of them in the Red Keep.” Joffrey snorted. “If I needed a clever schemer I would have offered the position to Varys.”

Barristan grunted into his beard.

“What do you expect of me, then?”

“Don’t worry, I don’t need you to manage the realm for me. Prepare the city for war. Man the walls, audit supplies, keep the commoners organized and knights ready. When I will return with the army I will have Renly’s forces following me.”

“If Mace Tyrell would accept your offer there will be no need for you to return in such a haste.”

“If, Barristan. If.” Joffrey smiled. “If it will happen my first raven will be sent to you.”

The old knight sighed heavily. His displeasure was obvious.

“Then I accept your offer, your grace.”

Joffrey nodded.

“Thank you, Barristan. I am grateful for your support. I truly am.”

Freshly appointed сastellan of the Red Keep and King’s Landing sighed and shook his head.

“I have a request, your grace.”

The old knight looked almost embarrassed. Joffrey simply nodded.

“Name it.”

“When I was examining the state of gold cloaks, I faced a covert resistance. Turned out that Janos Slynt believes my actions to be diminishing his authority.” Barristan looked Joffrey in the eyes, his voice stern. “Such a man has no place leading the city guard.”

Janos Slynt, hah. The man’s nepotism and corruption became almost legendary. He was useful, for a time, both to him and to Robert. It looked like Barristan wasn’t appreciating corruption as much as they did.

“You are my hand in the city when I am at war, Barristan. If Janos Slynt is interfering with your duties, remove him. The means are up to your choosing.”

Barristan the Bold, the man, that joined his first tourney at a tender age on ten, sighed with very obvious discomfort.

“I will resign at the very moment of your return, your grace.”

“I do not dare to ask of anything more.”

He would need to remember to do something good for the old knight.

***

«You wanted to help? Really?” Joffrey chuckled. “Forgive me for asking, but what had you been doing when I was torturing puppies, beating servants and making my best mad king impression on the court?”

“Covering you.”

“Covering.” Joffrey savored the words on the end of his tongue. “Not helping. Barristan brought me a septon that worked with young Aerys. You failed as much as to speak with me.”

“Joffrey, I wanted to help…”

“By guarding the queen’s chambers at night.” Joffrey smiled sarcastically. “Your help was truly invaluable.”

The room fell into silence. Joffrey was going through the stack of documents prepared by Varys and Baelish. The city was slowly, but surely getting ready for war, and he wanted to make the most of the last days here. It would have been much harder to make them work for him without cooking the reports in more peaceful days, but they were in the same boat now. If the city falls, their chances of survival are minimal.

Jaime, in his gold armor, stood by his side, guarding the entrance.

“I believe that you wanted to help. But it would have made your life complicated. And you don’t do complicated.”

Jaime was always going with the easier option. He was fine with almost anything as long as it did not interfere with his little bubble of a life. Wasted potential, that is all he was. A man that could have been ruling the Westerlands for years yet wasted his life on swinging an iron stick and making the best impression of the guard dog.

“What is your plan for the war?”

Joffrey looked at him. Jaime was angry and tried to change the topic. He indulged him.

“Lord Hayford and his men will arrive at the King’s Landing in two days if Varys to be believed. Lord Rykker will be here in three. Combined with half of Gold Cloaks, it will raise my army to three thousand strong.” Joffrey hummed, checking the numbers in the report. “It will take about a week to get to Chyttering Brook. Minor houses on the way will add about two and a half thousand.”

Meaning some five and a half thousand strong. He would have preferred more, but there was no time to wait for farther houses. Their men will arrive at the King’s Landing and stay there under Barristan’s command. Altogether Crownlands power was about twenty thousand men, but some lords had already betrayed and some will wait until the last moment. He would be lucky to collect twelve to fifteen thousand before Renly’s invasion will start.

“It will take some time to retake the Chyttering Brook.” Jaime looked at him. “It is old and its garrison is small, but the walls are still walls.”

Joffrey sighed. He knew it would be troublesome.

“There are hundreds of scorpions, ballistae and battering rams in the city and more than enough horses to carry them. As you had said, the castles of rebels are old. Two or three ballistae should be enough.”

It was a balance between the time and firepower. Siege equipment was expensive and hard to transport. Take too much, and his advance will become too slow. Take too little, and it will become almost impossible to breach the walls in time.

He needed Tywin. Or at least one competent siege engineer.

“I will order to select the best engineers.”

Joffrey nodded.

“Do so. We don’t need to take all of the best, someone has to oversee the preparation of the King’s Landing.” Joffrey thought for a moment. “And look into the supplies. I trust you to prepare the army.”

Jaime smiled brightly. It was the smile of a man with a clear goal in mind. Joffrey nodded. He would have to send someone to check his work later.

“Go and get it done. I have an audience with the High Septon in an hour. Ser Mandon Moor and ser Arys Oakheart can guard me well enough in the meantime.”

It would be rather complicated to convince the Faith to straight away excommunicate Renly just for being homosexual, High Septon still had some self-preservation instinct left, but even non-recognition of his marriage with Margaery Tyrell would be a boon.

It was nice to have the capital under control.


	6. Chapter 6

“Lady Sansa.”

Joffrey entered the solar after hearing the girl’s permission.

“Your grace!”

The girl happily looked at him and noticed the knight behind him. Her wolf growled quietly. His guard put a hand on the sword. 

“Lady is harmless, ser knight!” Sansa told quickly. “She is only scared of new people!”

“It is not safe to allow a wild beast to stay in living chambers.” Arys did not remove his hand from the sword’s hilt. “Its place is in the forest or, at worst, in the kennel.”

It was the case during Robert’s time. Sansa hated to lock her wolf in the kennels. 

“I personally allowed it, ser Arys.” Joffrey smiled at the girl. “It wouldn't be fair to take away the maiden’s most loyal protector."

Wolf growled again, glaring at him. Sansa looked at the wolf angrily, blushing from the embarrassment. 

“I am sorry, your grace. She is usually so calm and gentle, I don’t know what happened.”

“It is alright.” Joffrey chuckled. “While beautiful, she is not the lady whose favor I seek.”

Sansa blushed. And then paled a bit. Her voice changed.

“I heard about what happened with your father, your grace. Please, accept my deepest condolences.”

“He was a good man and took his murderer with him. The boar that killed him was served at his funeral. There turned out to be no enemy that managed to defeat him.” Joffrey smiled. “My father died fighting. It was a good death, my lady.”

Sansa nodded. She clearly was not comfortable talking about the king's death. He decided to change the topic.

“How is the court treating you, my lady?”

“Quite well, your grace.” Sansa smiled. “Reception was a bit… cold, lately. But I can not blame them, with the funeral and war going on.”

“I had brought a gift.” Joffrey smiled and held out a little box. “Please, open it.”

The girl hastily did what she was told. She tried to hold herself back out of pure politeness, but Joffrey knew she was eager to look at the present. 

“It is beautiful, your grace.”

Sansa cheerfully smiled. Inside was a brooch in a shape of pale blue flower the color of frost. A winter rose. She immediately pinned it on her dress. Joffrey couldn’t help but smile. 

Wolf in the corner of the room howled sadly. 

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” Joffrey smiled. “But still not as beautiful as you.”

Sansa blushed, hiding her eyes. 

“She is. Thank you, your grace.”

Joffrey smiled.

“Had you visited your father lately?”

Sansa nodded. 

“I did, your grace.” Sansa’s smile became a bit forced. “Ser Jaime refused to let me, first, but allowed me to see him yesterday.”

“How does he feel?”

“His leg is still in pain, but it became better.”

Joffrey nodded. Pycelle usually did a good job when it came to injuries. 

“Had he explained to you what he did?”

Sansa shook her head.

“He didn’t, your grace.”

Joffrey wasn’t so sure. Still…

“Before my father’s body got cold he started a coup. He wanted to use the bribed gold cloaks and his own men to murder me and seize the power.” Joffrey chuckled. “Fortunately, there still were loyal men in the city guard.”

Sansa stared at him in pure disbelief. 

“He couldn’t have, your grace! My father is an honorable man!”

Instead of arguing, Joffrey handed two papers to her. Sansa took her time reading through them. Her face turned pale. 

“In his final testament, my father had named Eddard Stark Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm until I will come of age. Not an hour later he had sent a letter to my uncle, offering him a vacant throne.” Joffrey needed not to fake the anger saying that. “It is through the pure luck and god’s will I am sitting in front of you, and not rotting in a cell, waiting for the poison or execution.”

“Your grace…” Sansa did not have words. “I am sorry, your grace.”

Joffrey chuckled.

“And now your brother is calling the banners, vowing to put my head on a spike.”

Sansa looked at him, pale and lost.

“It is a mistake, your grace.” Sansa looked at him, pleading. Almost begging. “Starks were always loyal. My father was fooled by traitors. I am sure of it.” 

“I thought of it too, my lady. After all, Eddard Stark is well known for his honor. When I came to speak with him I offered him to bend a knee. For our love, I was willing to forgive his treason.” Joffrey shook his head. “He called me a bastard and swore to deliver the throne to my uncle over my dead body.”

Sansa fell silent, unable to say a word. Joffrey put a finger under her chin, raising her head.

“In light of what happened, I have to cancel our wedding.” He whispered. “Regardless of how much I wish otherwise.”

“But… but I did nothing wrong, your grace. Why do you reject me?”

First tears appeared on the girl’s eyes. She wept. 

“King can not marry by the wish of his heart, my dear Sansa. Your father betrayed me, and your brother is in an open rebellion.”

Now Sansa was crying, clutching her fingers so tightly they became almost white. 

“I will make him change his mind, your grace! He loves me, he will listen!” Sansa grabbed his hand. “Please, let me try to convince him. He will bend the knee, and we will marry!”

Joffrey calmly embraced the girl. Wolf on the floor locked its eyes off him, showing the fangs, but otherwise stayed silent. Joffrey bared his own teeth, silently laughing at the beast’s rage. It knew its owner was in danger, but couldn’t do anything about it.

Joffrey ran a hand over Sansa’s back, making the girl shiver. She trustingly pulled closer to him. It was just too easy. He waited for the girl to calm down.

“Lord Chyttering from the Chyttering Brook had betrayed me and joined the usurper. I had called the banners and I am going to war.” Joffrey looked Sansa in the eyes. “I will return in two weeks. Your father will either bend the knee or I will have no other option left but to execute him. I can not give him any more leniency than I gave already.” 

“Thank you, your grace. Thank you. I promise you, he will hear the voice of reason. We will marry and I will give you beautiful children.” Sansa whispered in his ear. “I will pray to the Maiden and Warrior for you, and light a candle and put it on my window every night. It will help you to find the way back.”

“I hope you are right, my lady.” He smiled and kissed the girl on the cheek. “Please, wear my gift.”

Joffrey lowered his hands, freeing Sansa to her wolf’s great pleasure. The girl only leaned closer to him. Her cheeks were deeply red from the blush.

He waited for a moment, allowing the girl to feel him, and then stepped away. Joffrey doubted a bastard will make lord Stark change his mind on the matter. It would only create another claimant on the throne to deal with later. Still, it was an option to consider.

“Speak to your father. If he will agree, we will marry immediately.”

***

It did not take too much time to get back to his solar. Arys was silent for most of the way, deep in his thoughts.

“You could have taken her right there, your grace. The girl was throwing herself at you.” 

“True.” Joffrey nodded to the young knight. The age difference between them was big but almost nonexistent in comparison with other members of the Kingsguard. It allowed some freedom. “But no girl is worth the war lost.”

Arys Oakheart half-heartedly nodded. Joffrey doubted he would have left the girl's room before the morning, had their roles changed.

“May I ask, your grace?” 

Arys was strangely captured by the scene. The young knight looked almost startled. 

“Sure do.”

His guard chose his words carefully.

“Are you really going to marry her?”

Joffrey shrugged. He could not understand the emotions on Arys’ face and in his voice. He will need to consult with Barristan later. 

“Ned Stark will rather cut off his balls with the Ice than allow his daughter to marry Tywin Lannister’s grandson.” 

Arys nodded. Still, he looked strange and it was quickly becoming annoying. Joffrey hated such moments.

“And if he would agree?”

“I need a Lord Paramount on my side, Arys. Starks would work just as well as Tyrells.”’

They had fewer men, money and food, but asked for much less in return. They were about equal in comparison, but courting the Tyrells would also strip Renly of his only major ally. Joffrey would really prefer Margaery over Sansa. Still, a less desirable Lord Paramount on his side was better than none. But one neutral and one allied Lord Paramount were even better.

Arys stayed silent for some time.

“She loves you, your grace.” 

Knight’s voice was sad and envious. 

“I am the king, ser Oakheart. The throne is the only thing I can afford to love.” He chuckled. “Don’t look so grim, my dear knight. You are not the only one who will never marry for love. That is something we will have to bear together.”

Ser Arys chuckled in return. 

“I can not have a woman at all, your grace.”

Joffrey grinned.

“You can not own lands, take wife or father children. There is nothing about having a woman in your oath.”

“Your grace?!”

“I have no need in a sword that will salivate over every girl on his way. After we will finish for today, go and find yourself a woman of your liking.” 

“Are you sure, your grace?” Arys looked like he was too scared to ask. “Will you be fine with it?”

Joffrey sighed. He knew well enough what it was like to hold back the urges. It was tiring. Extremely so. And the tired sword is the sword that breaks at the most unfortunate moment.

“Keep it quiet. As long as it does not interfere with your duty and reputation, I am fine with that.” Joffrey thought for a moment. “When you'll make your choice, make me or Barristan aware. Trust me, you do not want to have Varys’ spy, Baelish’s whore or other nobleman's wife in your bed.”

Arys smiled like it was his name day. 

“Thank you, your grace.”

Joffrey smiled in return. He had never before bought loyalty so cheaply.

\---------

No, for real, leave your comments. They are one of the major reasons why I write the fic.


	7. Chapter 7

A thousand and half of the gold cloaks, half veterans and half fresh recruits. Two hundred heavy knights. Five hundred of Hayford and eight hundred of Rykker men. About a thousand from minor houses that had already arrived. Three ballistae.

His army was already bigger than everything that Stannis had in his disposal, and it will only become stronger with every minor house joining. Joffrey did not understand what the man hoped for. It was unnerving. His uncle was many things, but idiot he was not.

He either expected to wait until Renly’s death to take his army or simply hoped that they will kill each other. Both options were fine for now. Joffrey did not want to do Renly’s job for him. If someone had to waste his men on Stannis murder, let it be him. Seven knows, Renly had plenty of them.

“It is good weather today, your grace.” Lord Hayford laughed. “Right for the battle!”

He was a huge redheaded man, with a jaw broken by morning star in his youth. His maester did a decent job, but the face still looked deformed.

“Indeed, lord Hayford.” Joffrey smiled to his vassal. “How do your men feel? Eager for a good fight?”

“They are, your grace.”

Joffrey smiled.

“Had our scouts found anything?” Joffrey thought for a moment. “Any delay in their answer?”

“None, your grace. Kingswood is as peaceful as the Red Keep’s garden.”

Joffrey leaned closer to the map, removing the white circle from the Kingswood outskirts. It was a treacherous place, but he had sent enough men to check everything in one day worth of travel.

Castle Chyttering Brook proudly stood on the kingsroad, guarding the bridge over Wendwater. The first thing he did was destroying the bridge. Traitors did not have enough forces to protect it in an open battle outside of the castle walls and did not even attempted to stop him.

“And Buckler's? Should we expect a visit from them?”

He doubted it. With the bridge destroyed it would be a battle for the crossing, with his army on defense. Buckler’s had two thousand men at most, and most of them were moving to the Bitterbridge to join Renly.

Still, cautiousness had never harmed anybody.

“I doubt it, your grace.”

Joffrey thought for a moment.

“Put scouts all over the Wendwater. I want to know about every boat and every peasant that crosses it. And put an archer party on the riverside, just in case.”

It left only the Blackwater Bay, but the water there was treacherous. It would be hard to bring ships close enough to the land to allow the army to descend. Besides, it would put the invading army between the King’s Landing and him.

At least from that side, he was safe.

“For how long will they hold the walls if we don’t push?”

He was fast on arrival, and house Chyttering was far from wealthiest. He doubted their food supplies were significant.

“For a month. For two at the most.” Lord Rykker chuckled. “What do those fools even hope for? It is three hundred men against three thousand!”

He was much shorter and slimmer than Hayford, offsetting the loss in the luxury of his attire. His breastplate was decorated with two black hammers on the silvered saltire. Two black onyxes were encrusted into the hammers' heads.

Duskendale’s port was much smaller than King’s Landing, but for a house that for centuries ruled over some poor villages, it was the pinnacle of luxury and power.

“Stannis held the Storm’s End for almost a year with naught but two hundred men.”

“It is not the Storm’s End, your grace. Those rotten walls will give up to the ballistae wrath before the sunset.”

In the best case. Joffrey did not believe in the best cases.

“Had they send any messengers?”

“No, your grace.”

Pity. He would have ordered to execute them regardless, but it would have proved that they are desperate.

“A pity. Well, they chose their fate for themselves.” Joffrey smiled. “Prepare your men for the assault, my lords. We will storm the castle and put the traitors to the sword.”

With the war council sorted, Joffrey left the tent. The march to the Chyttering Brook lasted for about a week, making him impatient. No minor lord rebelled, tiring him with the endless assurances in eternal loyalty and support instead. Joffrey suspected that eternity will last only until the moment he’ll lose his army.

“Your opinion, ser Jaime?”

His uncle was clad in his usual golden armor. Joffrey never shared his obsession with gold, preferring black and red for himself. Besides, white looked better on him.

“I don’t like it.” He looked at Joffrey. “Why do they wait? They knew that we will come a week ago, if not more. Their lord had more than enough time to get away.”

Joffrey didn’t like it too.

“I expected them to ask for single combat.”

“With me on your side?” Jaime chuckled. A roguish smile really suited him. “They could have just taken black.”

Joffrey nodded. Jaime was one of, if not the, best swordsman in the Westeros. He doubted poor lord Chyttering had a champion of the same prowess.

“Your grace!”

A small man with pockmarks from sickness on his face hastily bowed. They were standing on the ballistae position.

“How is it going, Bron?” With an effort of will, Joffrey remembered the name of the man. “When will ballistae be ready?”

“Very soon, your grace.” The old man was obviously scared. He didn’t need to be, he was too important at the moment. “We will assemble them in a day.”

It was not a poor result. Bron was good in what he was doing, chosen from the fifteen other siege equipment masters. Still…

“You will get a hundred gold dragons for every ballista that will start shooting before the sunset.”

That made little man to smile.

“Thank you, your grace! Trust me, we will get them shooting!”

Joffrey smiled. Small folk was so easy. They only wanted money.

***

The assault started with the thunder of crumbling walls. Bron kept his word, assembling the siege equipment in less than one day. It took about four hours for ballistae to destroy the segment of the wall.

The first lines of his army were made of the infantry brought by the minor lords. As soon as the walls were breached, they charged straight into the gap. They were mostly peasants, that never before held a sword and shield in their hands. Joffrey held no expectations for their morale or skill. Their job was to charge and to die under the archer’s fire, using their numbers as their main weapon. Some of them took the battering ram, to give the defenders more of a headache.

Joffrey stood on a hill, far enough from the walls to be safe from the archers, but close enough to see the battle. Some of his knights were startled when the screams started. Lord Chyttering’s household met the attackers with everything they had, from stones and arrows to the boiling water and oil.

Joffrey smelled blood. It had a salty, metallic taste. He raised his hand, and command was sent to the troops.

The second group, made of the professional soldiers that were part of their knight's regiments, pushed further, going over the bodies of their less fortunate brothers in arms. They formed a wall of steel, that made the retreat impossible for the first line, almost clogging the breach with their bodies. Archers were shooting over their heads, most of their arrows hitting the wall.

It did not matter how brave the defenders were. They were just three hundred men. Even if every Chyttering’s man will murder two of his, Joffrey will be happy with the exchange.

He did not know how much time had passed before the castle was set aflame. He lost the sense of it, looking at the slaughter. Joffrey could not make sense of what was going inside, and he valued his life too much to come anywhere closer.

Slowly, but relentlessly his men were getting ground. The little foothold inside of the castle turned into a taken wall, that was immediately occupied by his archers.

He heard the cheers. The last group, made of heavy knights from his and his lord's households stayed as the reserve. They were too valuable to be thrown into a meat grinder on equal with the peasants.

They will attack when the gates would be opened to them.

“Your grace!” Shouted someone on the right. “Your grace!”

He turned to the man, and suddenly all of his thoughts were gone. Huge shadows floated on the line of sight, almost invisible on the water. The ships.

“How did he managed to bring the ships so close to the shore?!”

It was notoriously hard. The slightest mistake could have doomed the whole fleet. Ships could run aground in a lot of places there. One needed to know every nook and cranny of the Blackwater Bay to manage it.

Joffrey cursed. It was worse. It wasn’t only ships.

A sea of the mounted knights was coming from the bay, with armor shimmering in the moonlight. Silver seahorse on the field of green, gold stars on white, a red crab, a swordfish.

Covered in shadows until the last moment, they waited for their chance. And they got it.

“Dragonstone!” He heard the screams. “Velaryon!”

Hundred, two, Joffrey could not count their numbers. A lot. More than he had. They were led by the knight with a Baratheon-like sigil, black deer on a crimson field, caught aflame.

Knights were coming closer. Their lances were flickering with murderous light, the fire from the burning castle was lighting up their armor. Joffrey heard Jaime shouting, his own guard closed around him. Behind the screaming, he could not understand the words.

Joffrey could see the color of the attacker’s eyes.

The fire and cries of the dying. The taste of blood in his mouth. Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage. An instinct, a thirst for blood that was held back for far too long.

His men finally clinging around him, taking a lance formation. The men, that he kept in the camp as the reserve, hastily mounted their horses. His army was caught with its pants down, half inside of the castle, and half outside. Locked in a burning castle, engaged in a fight, it was too late for them to reach him.

There was nowhere to run. With the river and camp behind, he was cut off from more than half of his troops. His uncle had chosen the best possible moment for the attack. There was only one way for him, now.

“Charge!” He shouted, raising his sword. Joffrey did not have a lance, it was too heavy for him to raise, and his sword was only half of what an adult man had. His horse twitched, feeling the spurs. He pushed it, making it too gallop. “CHARGE!”

Following their king, the best knights of the Crownlands and King’s Landing charged straight into the best men of the Dragonstone.

Joffrey saw only Stannis.

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No, for real, leave your comments. They are one of the major reasons why I write the fic.


	8. Chapter 8

When Joffrey woke up, he screamed. His vision was shattered. His body was in pain. There was something on his face, itching, and burning. His hand…

There was a bandage on his hand. On what was left from his hand. Someone’s sword had cut through his armor like a hot knife going through the warm butter, separating his wrist from the hand. Joffrey screamed and bit the pillow. He breathed through the clenched teeth. His left hand was burning with pain. It was agonizing. It was more pain than he had ever known in his life.

Something pressed on his jaw and nose, making him unclench the teeth. Joffrey felt something sweet on his lips.

After some time he felt better. A numbness took the place of pain. He managed to open his eyes. A black stag met him. Beast had a crown on its neck and was dancing on a golden field. It was his stag.

Joffrey exhaled sharply, feeling better. At least he was not taken as a prisoner. They would have stripped the sigil from the wall otherwise.

“Thank gods you awoke, your grace!”

He heard the voice coming from somewhere. Joffrey tried to stand, but couldn’t. Strong hands were pressing on his shoulders, making it impossible to move.

“Please, don’t move. I need to change the bandage.”

Joffrey complied. Pain, that had left for some time, was slowly returning. He felt pressure on his left hand. After some time, it was over. Whoever was bandaging him finished his job.

Now he was holding a vial with a sweet-smelling substance inside.

“Please, drink, your grace.” Old maester looked at him pleadingly. After all, his life depended on the result of the treatment. “It is the milk of the poppy.”

Joffrey made a pause. The pain was returning, but…

“No. I need to think straight.” Joffrey whispered. His throat was sore. “Bring me some water and ask ser Jaime to come.”

Maester bowed, having no confidence to argue. His eyes were locked on the floor.

“It will be done, your grace.”

Joffrey did not know how much time had passed before he heard the heavy steps. A knight in a battered white armor came inside of the tent. His helmet was removed, and Joffrey could see concerned blue eyes.

Blue, not green.

“Your grace!” Arys smiled. “You are awake!”

Joffrey nodded.

“I am, ser Oakheart.” He whispered. It took too much strength to speak louder. “What are there results? Had we won?”

It was a dumb question. He would have been dead or worse otherwise. Joffrey could not bring himself to care. The fear, obscured by the fury on the battlefield, was returning to him. He felt drowning and weak.

He was happy to see his knight, perhaps, he was happy for the first time in his short life.

“We did, your grace.”

Arys' voice was tired, and his eyes were sad. It told him everything. Joffrey whispered:

“How many?”

“A lot, your grace.”

Joffrey sighed.

“And Jaime?” There was no answer, and it was the answer by itself. Joffrey hit the wall and screamed from the pain. He bit the pillow, again. Waited until the spasm would stop. “Show me the bodies.”

Arys nodded and helped him to get out of the bed. Joffrey blinked. The bandage was almost completely covering his left eye. He tried to take a step and almost fell. His leg was also bandaged.

“A lance wound, your grace.” Maester conveniently clarified. Joffrey forgot that the man was even in the room. “It is not dangerous, but it will be quite painful.”

Joffrey nodded. He had a vague memory of the lance slashing over his leg. It targeted his horse, not him.

“What is your forecast, maester?”

The old man made a pause, carefully looking at him.

“Your left eye is not in danger, but the scar will stay. The leg wound is not dangerous, but your hand…”

Joffrey bitterly smiled.

“No need in clarifications there.”

“Of course, your grace.”

Joffrey sighed.

“You are free, maester. Go and use your skills to help others.”

Seven knows, he lost enough men as it is to afford to waste maester’s time.

The mortuary was set inside of one of the free tents. About ten bodies lied inside. Four of them were covered in white cloaks.

The body clad in gold was barely held together by the armor. Its hands were shattered, breastplate broken into pieces. Joffrey could recognize the marks left by the battle axe and lance. Even the face was not left intact.

Without the armor, Joffrey wouldn’t have even recognized Jaime.

“He fought like an angry god, your grace,” Arys whispered. “When we started to lose, ser Jaime charged straight into the usurper. He went right through their lines. Cut down at least five knights on his way and beheaded him.”

As proof of Arys’ words, Stannis’ corpse lied next to the Kingsguard. Its head was separated from the body.

“And others?”

“Ser Meryn Trant, ser Boros Blount, and ser Preston Greenfield had died in your service, your grace. Ser Mandon Moore is wounded, but will recover.”

With Barristan in the city, it left four dead and two alive. In one battle he had lost the majority of his kingsguard.

“How many men were in Stannis’ retinue?”

“Two hundred and twenty, your grace.”

Not as many as he thought in the heat of the moment. It was even less than what he had, his reserve was numbering two hundred and fifty men.

Joffrey clenched his teeth. Rage was raising its ugly head inside of him. The whole battle was a mistake. His mistake.

He did not check the Bay. He did not send scouts to the sea, blinded by the danger coming from the Stormlands. He had trusted nature and underestimated his uncle’s captains. The only reason he was still alive, and not lying in the pile of corpses, were the mistakes made by Stannis.

The man had only two hundred and twenty knights. It meant that he attacked too early. Before he managed to collect all of his vassals. Besides, he did not bring any infantry or archers with him. Space on the ships was limited and horses took a lot of it.

It was a risky bet that had almost worked. Almost - because Joffrey had the best kingsguard in centuries on his side. Had, in capital letters. Not anymore. He did not have Jaime Lannister, the first sword of the kingdom, now.

One more such victory and he can behead himself, sparing Renly an effort.

Joffrey looked at the bodies in white cloaks. It will take a week to get back to the King’s Landing.

“Separate the bones from the flesh. I will send them to their families.” Joffrey looked at Stannis' corpse. “His too, but put the head on a spike first.”

“It will be done, your grace."

“Order the lords and captives to gather.” Joffrey sighed, getting ready for the pain, and stepped away from Arys. The scream froze in his mouth. His leg was burning.

Arys immediately stepped closer.

“Your grace…” His guard looked at him with concern. “Maybe you should at least lean on me?”

Joffrey shook his head angrily. He knew that his face was pale from pain and blood loss. It did not matter.

“The king can not afford to look weak.” He made one more step. It was easier this time, if only for a fraction. “Collect the lords, my knight. Time spend without clear orders is the time that brings doubts.”

***

The camp lied in ruins. Stannis’ cavalry managed to reach it, bringing havoc and destruction with them. Some of the tents were ripped apart, and he still could taste the blood in the air.

Four lords stood in front of him. Still in their armor, but without helmets and with their hands bound behind their backs, they looked like a captured fish in a fisherman's bucket. Joffrey’s teeth painfully clenched. He wanted them dead. With every cell of his wounded body, he wanted them to burn.

They had taken his left wrist. They had murdered his kigsguard. They had taken away his ace.

He needed their men on his side.

What was left of their retinues stood behind them. In total there were about eighty knights capable to stand straight. Forty more were under maester's care. Another hundred was dead. Their armor and swords were removed, leaving them defenseless and almost naked.

Lord Monford Velaryon, a thin man with distinct valyrian looks, stared at him angrily. He was young, at most ten years older than him. Joffrey felt sudden envy. He always wanted to look that way.

“You had supported the usurper. The usurper is dead.” Every word came with an effort. Joffrey felt chills and fever. He wanted to collapse. “You will bend the knee, or you will die.”

Silence followed his words. And then Monford Velaryon laughed.

“What, you won’t offer us to take the black?” Young Velaryon smirked. “Scared we will meet you there?”

Joffrey did not answer.

“Ser Arys?” Without saying a word, his knight stepped to the Monford, with his sword bare. Joffrey shook his head. “Subdue him.”

Arys pushed the traitor to Joffrey, making him fall on his knees. Joffrey held out his hand. Kingsguard put his sword in it. It was heavy. Almost too heavy for his only remaining hand.

Standing on his knees, Monford hatefully stared at him. There was anger in his eyes, but Joffrey knew that the man was scared. Everyone is scared when faced with execution. Some beg when they are scared. Others try to fight back.

“Come on, bastard. Kill me. Renly will cut your dick off and make you eat it!”

Additional weight proved itself a boon. Heavy steel fell on the Velaryon’s neck, decapitating him almost instantly. Joffrey looked at the other lords, repeating himself.

“You will bend the knee, or you will die.”

Ardrian Celtigar, the man with the huge red crab on his breastplate, was the first to break. Old and greedy, he valued his life more than anything else. Duram Bar Emmon, lord of Sharp Point, was second. A feeble, fat boy of fifteen was so scared that his face turned paler than his armor. Joffrey did not know why Stannis even brought him. Probably to secure his knights' loyalty.

Guncer Sunglass was the last. With the gold stars on his coat of arms and moonstones at his throat, wrists, and fingers the man looked more like a septon, that for some reason put on an armor.

Now, with all three lords standing on their knees, Joffrey allowed himself to smile.

“You made the right choice, my lords. Now, prove your men loyalty.”

It made them pause, looking at him without a hint of understanding. They were too scared to think fast.

“Your grace?”

“The usurper is dead. His men are not.”

Now they understood. Knights behind them screamed, trying to break free. They understood, too. There were only twenty men left from Stannis’ household. Others were too loyal to surrender.

“Give them their swords.”

In a mere moment traitors forces were divided - those, whose lord bend the knee, now were armed. They stood, uncertain, locked in the circle of steel. They were looking at the men, with whom they bled and died hours ago.

“You make me wait, my lords."

Joffrey raised the sword. Drops of the Monford’s blood splattered over the hesitant lords. Like the last time, old Celtigar was the first to break.

“Kill them!” He screamed. “Kill the traitors!”

Celtigar’s knights obeyed. Others followed them. In less than a minute everything that was left from Stannis’ retinue was destroyed. They were murdered by his very own vassals. By their brothers in arms. By those, who had betrayed their lord.

There was no way back for them, now. Renly will gut them in a very moment he’ll capture them. And they knew it.

Joffrey had bound them with the blood and treason.

“You did well.”

Pale lords bowed even lower. Understanding of what had just happened was slowly coming to them.

Joffrey looked at what was left from his army. From four thousand only two and a half were left. Many died inside of the castle from the fire, even more - from archers. The core of his forces, heavy knights, retained the same number. What he had lost was replenished in Stannis' men.

He also lost his kingsguard, and it burned more than he was willing to admit.

“We had won!” Joffrey shouted. Soldiers mass burst in cheers. Losses were heavy, but no one wanted to think about them. Not now, at least. “Traitors are dead. Their castle is taken.”

Joffrey waited for cheers to end.

“You brought me the victory, my men. The riches are yours!” He smiled. “Sack the castle. Take whatever is of your liking. Burn the rest. Do not allow any traitor to escape. Make them remember, what is the price of the treason!”

Blooded, tired, and exhausted his men cheered, like children. It did not matter that they had almost died a couple of hours ago. They were alive, they had won, and there was a castle full of gold and women to take. They were happy.

Joffrey smiled and left to his tent. As soon as he was out of his troop's vision, he collapsed on Arys, allowing the knight to carry him. His legs were trembling from the exhaustion and burning from the pain, his face itched. He did his best not to look at his left hand.

Joffrey fell on the bed, finally allowing himself to scream. Despite the distance and thin material of the tent, he could hear the cries of the slaughtered and crackling of the flame. What had survived the battle was burning now.

It was the end of the Chyttering Brook.

\---------

No, for real, leave your comments. They are one of the major reasons why I write the fic.


	9. Chapter 9

When Joffrey came to Stark’s solar, the man ignored him. Like the last time, Joffrey sat on a chair in front of him. He could feel man’s eyes peer onto his scar and stump of his left hand.

He expected Stark to say something about it. He didn’t.

“You gave my daughter a winter rose.”

Joffrey smiled.

“A beautiful thing, isn’t it?”

Stark shook his head. He looked calm, but Joffrey could feel the rage boiling inside of him. He could relate.

“Don’t play games with me, Joffrey. We both know that it was not a random gift.”

“It wasn’t.” Joffrey calmly agreed.

If glare could kill, he would’ve been dead already.

“I got your meaning, boy.”

“Good.” He smiled. “Had you thought about my offer?”

“I will not bend the knee.”

“And let the North burn?”

Eddard did not answer. Joffrey smiled again. He put a little box on a table.

“Open it.”

There was a pause. They both knew what was inside. And yet, Stark did what he was told. The box clicked. There was another winter rose inside, this time in a form of the hair clip.

“What do you think, lord Stark? Will Arya appreciate the gift?”

For a moment, Joffrey fully expected that Stark will jump on him. He did not. Perhaps it was self-control, or he understood that Arys will be able to intercept him in time.

“You will not dare.”

Stark leaned him closer to him, staring right into his eyes. There was something wolfish in him, now.

“I will if you will make me. And I will make you watch.” Joffrey whispered. “I am not a boy you can scare into submission, Stark. I had fought, bled, and killed. I had turned Chyttering Brook into ruins and killed Stannis for the throne. I will step over two girls.”

“You killed Stannis?”

“Jaime did. He paid with his life for it.” Joffrey did not take his eyes off Eddard’s. “The games are over. War is here. Winter is here. Bend the knee, Stark. Get out of the south. Take your daughters and sword with you, and leave.”

“You will not stop, won’t you?” Eddard said softly. “Nothing I can say will convince you.”

“I am the king of the Iron Throne, Stark. By the pure chance, but I am the king. I had already killed, bled, and slaughtered for it. I will keep killing, bleeding, and slaughtering until either my body or the realm will give up.” Joffrey raised his left hand, showing the stump. “You can get on my way, or you can step aside. The choice is yours.”

There was silence. Then Eddard spoke.

“You will not marry my daughter.”

“Done.”

“You will never come to the North.”

“Done.”

“You will never call for my help. If you and Renly have to fight over the damn chair, do it without my men.”

“Done.”

“You will return the Ice.”

“Done.”

“You will send the bones of my men to the Winterfell.”

“Done.”

“My daughters and I will have a safe path to the North. You will not try to stop or re-capture us.”

“I will hand you over to your son and wife in a silver parchment.”

Stark looked at him, surprised.

“I had arranged the hostage exchange in the Harrenhal. Your son will bring your lords. Hoster Tully and Tywin Lannister will bring theirs. I will bring mine."

After a short pause, Eddard understood.

“You want me to swear fealty in front of the half of the realm.”

“You will swear felty twice.”

Joffrey was not going to give the man any way back. If he will try to attack him, he will become the oathbreaker in the eyes of the whole realm and his vassals. It was far from the best assurance, but it was the best he could hope for.

Besides, it gave him a good cause to request a right of the passage from the Tully on behalf of Tywin. The man had almost finished gathering his army, and Tully, that kept neutrality, refused to allow him to go through their lands. It will end up in a war if he couldn't figure something out.

“Good,” Stark answered. His eyes were sharp, and there was no hint on a smile left on his lips. “At least you are not dumb.”

It was so sudden that Joffrey was startled for a moment. He forgot that he was talking with the man that had won the Rebellion.

“I have a second demand.”

Stark looked at him, thinking.

“You are going to offer Myrcella for Edmure Tully. Or for Robyn Arryn.”

“Yes.”

“I will not advise them for or against it.”

“Agreed.”

Joffrey stood up. His leg still burned from pain, but he learned to deal with the pain well in the latest days.

“I will hold the court in three hours. Servants will bring you your best clothes. Prepare yourself, shut Sansa up, and look pretty.” 

***

The Iron Throne. A huge, asymmetric monstrosity of spikes and twisted metal. It is cold and hard, with many jagged edges. It is impossible to lean back because of the fanged steel behind. It was made of the swords, surrendered by his defeated or murdered ancestors, and forged in flame of the greatest dragon ever seen in Westeros.

Every time Joffrey set upon the Iron Throne he was short of breath. Three hundred years of history stood around him. Aegon held his first court from the throne. Maegor had died on the very place Joffrey sat, his neck impaled on the blade that was hanging over Joffrey’s head now. Despite the centuries passed it was still sharp.

He was the king on the Iron Throne, now. He had the right to sit on a mountain of molten swords of his forefathers and cold dragon fire.

It felt like a joke. He felt like a cat that was allowed to sit on the owners' chair while they were away. Had the dragons stayed alive, it would have been the case.

Aegon had never valued the Iron Throne. He could make a hundred of those. It was normal for him. And they were fighting and dying for it like it was a sacred relic. It made Joffrey feel his own insignificance only sharper.

“We had won!” Joffrey declared to the court. “The traitor is dead, killed by my uncle, ser Jaime Lannister. Ser Jaime Lannister, Ser Meryn Trant, ser Boros Blount, and ser Preston Greenfield had fallen on the battlefield. They had fulfilled their duty of kingsguard’s until the bitter end, and will be remembered as the embodiment of honor and duty until the end of the days.”

Joffrey made a pause, letting the court to digest the news.

“Lords of the Sharp Point, Claw Isle, and Sweetport Sound had bent their knee.” Joffrey looked at the lords sworn to Dragonstone. They looked uncomfortable, standing in the front line, right before the throne. He was showing off his trophies, and they knew it. “Their fleets will join the Crown fleet and retake the Driftmark and Dragonstone.”

Joffrey did not need the fleet yet, but he did not want it to stand idle. With almost all of the Stannis’ vassals sworn to him, and the bulk of his army crushed, he expected Dragonstone to surrender in a month or two. There was no point for them to fight against the blockade.

“Lord Guncer Sunglass will lead the blockade.”

Joffrey needed to show that it is beneficial to change the side, and the job was easy enough that even the lord that prayed for three hours every day would have trouble failing it. Besides, he heard some whispers about the red priestess from Ashai whose support Stannis had requested. It would be nice to turn it into a war against the heretics.

“Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North, Protector of the Realm.”

Joffrey looked at the man. He stood in front of the throne, at the most privileged position. Both of his daughters stood with him as a reminder of the possible consequences. The youngest, Arya, looked at Joffrey with the mix of fear and enmity. Her father had warned her about him, and she had listened. Sansa stood close to them, her eyes red from tears. Little fool even wore the winter rose on her dress.

“You made an attempt on my life. You had bribed the loyal members of the city guard to murder me and my lady mother, intending to give the throne to Stannis Baratheon.” Joffrey looked at the man, sternly. Eddard’s face was cold and solid as stone. “Do you confess in those crimes?”

Silence. The court fell in a total, dead, murderous silence.

“I do.”

Someone in the crowd gasped. He heard the whispers.

“Why did you commit your crimes?”

“Lord Stannis made me believe in the gossips about the kings' parentage.”

Stark’s voice was cold and emotionless.

“Do you believe in those gossips, now?”

There was a pause. Eddard’s face was pale as snow. His teeth clenched.

“I do not.”

“Do you repent your mistake?”

“I do.”

Joffrey smiled. He was looking at the court now. At the heads of the Crownlands houses, at the knights, at the ladies and even at some children. They all had heard him.

“Seventeen years ago king Aerys Targaryen murdered lord Rickard Stark and his son Brandon Stark. Prince Rhaegar kidnapped, raped, and murdered Lyanna Stark, daughter of Rickard Stark and betrothed of my father, Robert Baratheon.” He made a pause. “Houses Stark and Baratheon stood as one. They went against the tyrant and put an end to his reign. Lord Eddard Stark had personally led his men in every battle. Without him, the realm would still suffer under the heel of the mad king, or of the rapist prince.”

He could feel Stark’s stare on him. He was not sure, what emotion it was. He doubted it was hatred. It was something much more complicated.

“Stannis Baratheon was not known for his charisma, but no one would have called him a fool. He was a cunning and callous man. There is no shame in falling into his trap. One such trap had cost me a wrist.” Joffrey allowed anger to slip into his voice. “Another had almost cost to lord Stark his life.”

Whispers started again, and he gave the court time. Not everyone in the court knew how to hold their emotions back, and very few people knew what truly happened after Robert’s death.

“Now the usurper is dead, and his lies died with him,” Joffrey uttered. “Do you wish to leave it in the past, lord Stark? Do you wish to stand by my side as you stood by the side of my father?"

“I do.”

And that was it. All of the Stark’s reputation was now working for Joffrey. Eddard Stark had acknowledged him as Robert’s son. And the head of the man that started the rumors was impaled on the Iron Throne.

Joffrey stood from the throne. His face became pale from the pain. There were only twenty steps from his seat to Eddard, and yet they were the hardest steps in his life.

Eddard Stark kneeled.

“Do you, Eddard from the house Stark, before the face of the gods old and new, swear to be faithful to me, my children, and children of my children?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to answer my call, when I’ll send it, and never raise a sword against me?

“I do.”

“Do you swear to protect my rights and claims, and those of my children?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to rule the North from my name justly and fairly? Do you swear to ward and protect it from any danger, like you would have protected the Winterfell?”

“I do."

“And I, in return, swear before the gods old and new, to protect your rights and those of your children. To never raise a sword against you, and answer your call when you will send one.” Joffrey smiled at the man and handed him the Ice. “Take your sword, Eddard Stark, lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount and Warden of the North, and never raise it against me again. The king can not forgive twice.”

Eddard stood up. His face still was pale, and his teeth were clenched, but it no longer mattered. He got all the support from the man that he possibly could. Joffrey returned on the throne.

“I have a request, your grace.”

He heard Eddard’s voice. He could swear he heard how the man’s teeth clenched on the word “grace.”

“I am listening, lord Stark.”

“My oldest daughter, your betrothed, is sick. I wish to bring her back home.”

At these words, Sansa had burst into tears. Well, at least this way she can not say anything.

“Your request is granted, lord Stark.” Joffrey smiled. “It pains me to part with your daughter, but I will not put my wishes before her health.”

“Thank you, your grace.”

Joffrey nodded. His part of the exchange was done. It was not the break up of the betrothal yet, but it was very close to it. Joffrey had just lost a hostage but earned something much more important. Legitimization.

The North had accepted his rule.

“Lords of the Crownlands. You all swore fealty to me, and now I recall your oath. Renly Baratheon, a sword-swallower, traitor, and usurper, had called his banners. Lord Mace Tyrell had believed his lies and declared fealty to him.” Joffrey allowed some rage into his voice. “All loyal men of the realm are coming to the ruins of the Harrenhal. Gather your men, my lords. We are joining them.”

With that, the performance was over. Lords and ladies left the throne room, eagerly discussing everything that he had said. Stark, ever cautious, was the last to leave. He was holding his daughters by their shoulders like he was scared that they would be stolen.

The doors of the throne room closed, leaving only him, Barristan, and Arys behind.

“Do all loyal men really gather in the Harrenhal, your grace?”

Arys asked.

“Not yet. But they will be.” Joffrey smiled. “Stark had lost all of his guards, and it is dangerous to travel alone. I will never agree to come to the North and Robb Stark will never agree for the King’s Landing. It leaves only Riverlands, which are neutral, but Catelyn Stark is the daughter of the Hoster Tully. It makes the Riverrun too dangerous for me to attend.”

“I see, your grace. It makes Harrenhal the obvious choice. As it is right in between the Winterfell and the King’s Landing, you both may bring sufficient troops to be safe from a sudden attack. Besides, Hoster Tully, as the lord of the lands, can guarantee the safety of the negotiations.”

Joffrey nodded. He wouldn’t have trusted any guarantees, but it still was a boon.

“You are right, ser knight.” Joffrey smiled. “And I did ask him to supervise the gathering. But there is more than that. Hoster Tully had declared of his house neutrality. Now he may change that stance. He is a trusted ally of the Eddard Stark from the times of the Rebellion. I did not consider him as an ally before. Now lord Stark had accepted me as his liege, and the situation changed.”

It changed by a huge margin. Now he did not need to care about the attack from the north.

“I had asked lord Tywin to join me in the Harrenhal. Lord Hoster had refused him the pass, before, as it would break his neutrality. Lord Tywin had already threatened him with the war.” Joffrey sighed. “Now he has a good reason to allow him to pass without enraging Renly.”

Which meant that there would be nobility from the Westerlands, North, Riverlands, and Crownlands there. From the Vale too, perhaps. Robb Stark will bring his vassals to see his father and sisters returned safely, and Hoster Tully will have to bring some of his major bannermen. Even if he wouldn’t, Joffrey had already sent them invitations. The hostage exchange will end up being the biggest gathering of the southern and northern nobility since the Tourney of Harrenhal.

He will make Eddard bend the knee there again, in front of the half of the realm. Just to make sure.

And Harrenhal is right above the Reach. Tyrells won’t be able to ignore such a hint. If he will get lucky, they would consider it a meeting of his supporters. With Eddard Stark swearing fealty and his son preparing the troops it will really look like it.

Renly will not fall for it, but he will have a hard time explaining to Tyrells why everyone to the north to them had suddenly declared for Joffrey.

He tried to get off the throne, but his hand failed him. Barristan helped him to get up.

“I should have been there.”

There was sadness in the old knight voice.

“No.” Joffrey shook his head. "You had been where I asked you to be. Had the situation played out differently, Stannis would have attacked the city. I needed you here.”

Barristan did not answer, but Joffrey knew that the old man was not convinced.

“Barristan?”

Joffrey asked. He always felt strangely timid when he had to ask the old knight of anything.

“Yes, your grace?”

“I may need to make use of your reputation.”

Barristan was the knight well known in the realm. Known, and deeply respected.

“You don’t need to beat around the bush, your grace.”

Joffrey blushed.

“I want you to write to lord Doran Martell.” He sighed. “I am sure they consider me just another Lannister, but they will at least read your letter.”

That picked the old man’s interest.

“You want to offer him to marry Arianna Martell, don’t you?”

Joffrey nodded.

“Offer him Clegane’s and Lorch’s heads. It should be needless, but still, make it obvious that the request for Tywin’s head will be a dealbreaker.” Joffrey thought for a moment. “But another way of compensation can be considered."

“They will never accept gold, your grace.”

Joffrey chuckled.

“If Doran would wish to become my hand instead of Tywin, I will allow it.”

It would be a blow to the man’s pride if anything, but Joffrey will find a way to compensate it to Tywin. The man was balls deep in the war already. When it will be over and Renly will be dead, all bets will be off. Dorn will become just one of the seven kingdoms.

He only needed to win the war.

“May I say something, your grace?” Arys asked. There was laughter in his eyes.

“Go for it.” Joffrey smiled.

“A meeting in Harrenhall and marriage with a Dornish princess… Your grace, your love for history is slowly getting out of control!”

Joffrey laughed. Barristan smiled, too. He said:

“Your grace, if I hadn’t understood why you do what you do, I would have thought you are doing everything you can to enrage Robert.”

Joffrey chuckled. It really seemed like it, didn’t it?

“Who told you that I don't?”

\---------

And this is the end of the arc 1, King's Landing. No, for real, leave your comments. They are one of the major reasons why I write the fic.

As this is the end of the arc, I expect to receive some coherent reviews both on the last chapter and on the arc as a whole. The more of them I will get, the better fic will be in the future, and the more motivation I will have to write it.


	10. Chapter 10

“It becomes a tradition.”

“Your grace?”

“To come together at Harrenhal right before we will start butchering each other.”

It was suitable, in a strange way. Conquest started with Harrenhal, after all. A cyclopean, incoherently huge structure was made of the molten stone. Its walls were broken and towers long crumbled. Harren Hoare had burned here along with all his household. Their bones still could be found around.

Something crunched under the leg of Joffrey’s horse. He winced. Despite the noise made by almost four thousand men, the silence was deafening. Harrenhal was almost physically suffocating.

He knew what happened here all too well.

“Entertain me.” Ordered Joffrey.

“Are you scared, your grace?”

“Lord Tywin is waiting for me with Jaime’s body, and I have only five thousand men with me.” Joffrey shook his head. “Yes, Arys. I am scared.”

There was a short silence.

“Lord Tywin has nothing to blame you for.”

“I killed his son. We both know he will blame me, Arys.”

“He will.” Arys quietly agreed. He decided to change the topic. “Are your really so indifferent to your own marriage?”

“I hope it will bearable.”

Arys chuckled.

“You know something I do not, your grace?”

Joffrey sighed.

“Arianne Martell is not known for her… virtuous nature, let’s put it this way.”

That made Arys to pause.

“Are you sure, your grace?”

“She is twenty-two and still not married.” Joffrey snorted. “Had you ever seen twenty-two years old maiden, ser Arys?”

“Point.” Arys smiled. “That aside, if you could have married anyone, whom would it be?”

“Margaery Tyrell, ser Oakheart. I thought it was obvious.”

The young knight chuckled.

“Not what I meant, your grace. If you could marry not for politics.”

“Ah.” Joffrey paused. He had never really given it a thought. “Princess Rhaenyra, I guess.”

Arys opened his mouth, closed it, and opened again. Then shook his head.

“I am not even surprised, your grace. For some reason.”

Joffrey smiled.

“It means you know me well.”

Rhaenyra turned her realm to ash when she was fighting for the throne. Joffrey could appreciate the dedication. After all, he was doing the same.

They rode in silence.

“I still think it is too early,” Arys muttered. “You could have added Mallery, Cressey, Stokeworth, and the whole Crackclaw Point to the army.”

They were the southernmost lordships of the Crownlands, right on the border with the Riverlands. Forcing them to submit would have meant one or two extra thousand of men. Significant, but not a war-changing number.

“I need to deal with North and Riverlands. Waste a week more, and there will be an outright war between Tywin and Hoster.”

Tywin had raised an army of thirty-five thousand, but couldn’t send it to the King’s Landing without going through the goldroad. It meant marching extremely close to the Riverlands, and Tully were too scared of him to allow it.

Riverlands could field twenty five thousand men if all lords would support Tully, but without old Frey and with Bracken and Blackwood at odds, numbers fell to eighteen thousand. Being right in between Westerlands and Crownlands they could only hope for North or Reach to help them.

Joffrey took care of the former, but the latter still could bite him in the arse.

Deep in his thoughts, Joffrey almost missed the moment of their arrival. Harrenhal was covered in tents with houses sigils on them. Close to them were jousting fields. The fencing had been already installed, and knights were practicing.

“Tully really did it,” Arys whispered. “They organized a damn tourney. I almost can not believe it.”

Joffrey sighed.

“Never doubt Tully’s desire to show off.”

A huge tent under the silver fish sigil stood close to the Kingspyre Tower. It was surrounded by smaller tents. Joffrey recognized sigils of house Blackwood, Bracken, Mooton, and Darry. Mallister’s eagle was flaunting a little aside. Of all major Riverlands houses, only Frey’s weren’t present.

“Welcome to Harrenhal, your grace!” Joffrey was met by the small party of riders with Tully sigils on their clothing. “Lord Edmure is wishing you well. He is waiting for you in the Hall of the Hundred Hearths.”

Edmure, not Hoster. Old lord decided not to attend. It was bothersome. Even more so was barely covered insult in the messenger words. As the lord of the lands, Tully had to meet him in the gates. What’s worse, it was a public insult, caused in front of his vassals.

It was not an occasion Joffrey could afford to ignore.

“Had lord Tywin Lannister arrived yet?”

“He hadn’t, your grace.”

Messenger, a young man with auburn hair and blue eyes, was scared. He was well aware of the insult his lord was causing.

“Lord Robb Stark?”

“Lord Stark is expected to arrive tomorrow, your grace.”

Joffrey nodded. He expected that. In was one of the reasons why he had arrived so early.

“Tell lord Edmure I will grant him the audience later.” Joffrey smiled. “For now, show to my household way to the Kingspyre Tower.”

It was the biggest tower in the castle. Despite the damage caused by Balerion, it still had the most luxurious living chambers.

“Your grace, I deeply apologize, but lord Edmure resides in the Kingspyre Tower.”

Poor guy was almost shaking.

“Lord Edmure will cope.” Joffrey smiled. “Remind him that I can take much more than his living chambers.”

Arys put his hand on the sword. Two hundred knights around them did the same. The poor messenger bowed.

“Yes, your grace."


	11. Chapter 11

“Took you long enough to find me.”

Joffrey told to Edmure Tully. The man was in his thirties but looked a little younger. He had bright blue eyes, fair skin, and auburn hair. Joffrey was pretty sure that the messenger from the morning was his bastard.

“I am here to order you to leave.”

Edmure gritted through his teeth. The man was angry. Joffrey sighed.

“Do you mean the tower, Harrenhal, or the Riverlands?”

“All of them!”

Joffrey chuckled.

“I afraid I can not. I had agreed personally with lord Hoster that the Harrenhal will be the place of my meeting with Robb Stark. I will need his request to cancel the event.”

“My father is currently busy. I am talking from his name.”

“And I do not listen.” Joffrey smiled. “How are you going to make me?”

“I…”

“Sit, lord Edmure. We have things discuss.”

“We have none.”

“We do.” Joffrey's smile became wider. “I have things that will interest you, and you have a service that interests me.”

Edmure's face turned red. He would have punched Joffrey, had Aerys been not present.

“After you offered Riverlands to old Frey you have the nerve to ask me for a service!?” Edmure shouted. “We have nothing to talk about, bastard. I am here to show you way out.”

It was like a cold shower. Joffrey stared at Edmure.

“What nonsense are you talking about?”

“Stop pretending. My men had captured your spymaster’s henchman. You were conspiring with my vassal against me.”

‘Varys, you treacherous cunt!’

He was played. He was fucking played.

“Do you have any proof?”

“I…” Edmure shook his head. “I have more than enough proof to make my decision.”

“What kind of proof?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” Joffrey sighed. “If you do not want to show me the proof then it is nothing but empty accusations. Listen to my offer, first.”

Tully snored.

“I don’t want to listen. First, you are trying to get my vassal to overthrow me, offering him my title and my lands, and now you want my support.” Man snorted. “You are pathetic.”

Joffrey made a deep breath.

“You are walking on very, very thin ice now, Tully. Consider your next words very carefully. You may regret them.”

Edmure almost jumped from pure rage.

“Regret? You dare to threaten me at my home?!” Edmure shouted. “I will…”

Joffrey lost it.

“Arys.” He said quietly.

Kingsguard bared his sword and stepped closer to Edmure. Tully broke off in the middle of the word. He suddenly remembered that he is in the tower full of Joffrey’s people, and his own guard had to stay in the camp.

“I do not threaten, Tully. I am telling you what will happen.” Joffrey whispered. Feeling sword on his neck, Edmure became very quiet. “I have five thousand swords in the Harrenhal. Ten thousand more will come from the King’s Landing in less than five days. Tywin Lannister with his thirty five thousand is standing in the Golden Tooth. Old Frey will not support you. You may call your banners and attack me right now. You may even be successful and kill me. Tywin will murder you right after and burn Riverran to the ground. With thirty five gathered thousands against sprayed out eighteen it is not even in question.”

“You…”

“Stop.” A tiny drop of blood showed up on the Tully neck. “I am talking.”

Silence was restored.

“I wanted to be nice. I will not bother anymore. I have no interest in hearing your empty accusations. ” Joffrey came closer to Edmure, looking him in the eyes. “Tywin will cross the goldroad, and you will supply his army on the way. And you will be grateful for it. Otherwise, he will burn down every village on his way to King’s Landing.”

“I will support…”

“You will return to your chambers and think about everything that I said.” Joffrey smiled. “You may support Renly. He will appreciate it. Your corpse will not have time to enjoy his gratitude. Am I understood?”

Edmar carefully nodded, too scared of the sword on his neck.

“Arys, please, show lord Tully the way out.”

His knight nodded and sheathed his sword. Tully exhaled loudly and opened the door.

“Princess Arianne?!”

In front of the door stood a young woman in distinctively dornish clothing. She had olive skin, large dark eyes, and long, thick black hair.

That was a surprise. Joffrey did not expect to see her so soon.

“Lord Tully?” Arianne coldly smiled. Her eyes were full of disdain. “I hoped to talk with his grace. If you are finished…”

“We are!”

Before the princess had time to answer, Edmure left the chambers. Joffrey stood up and smiled.

“Princess Arianne, welcome. I am sorry that you had to wait.”

“It is quite alright.” Arianne thinly smiled. “Entertainment was to my taste.”

Joffrey bowed.

“I am glad.” He smiled. “Would you like some wine? I hope the road was not too exhausting.”

“It wasn’t. You are not going to collect your guards?” Arianna asked. “He sounded spiteful enough to call for an attack.”

“All my guards are already collected, princess.” Joffrey smiled. “Besides, Edmar will never have enough balls for it. He barks but does not bite. Not without his father's approval.”

He was still bounded by the laws of hospitality and will need to make his vassals attack their king breaking them. If Blackwood would agree, Bracken almost certainly wouldn’t and vice versa. It will also put them right at the very top of the Tywin Lannister “to murder” list.

In order to crush him, Edmure will need at least six thousand, and he will need time to gather them. Harrenhal is close enough to the Crownlands that reinforcements from the capital will arrive sooner. It was the reason why Joffrey had chosen the place, after all.

“On his place, I would have already got you executed.”

“That is why you are not in his place.” Joffrey smiled and returned to his chair. He opened the bottle, filled the glasses, and made the first sip. “Shall we?”

Arianne nodded.

“When did you arrive?”

“Three hours ago. Oberyn wanted me to wait until tomorrow before the visit.”

“But?”

“I got curious.”

“Why?”

“There are a lot of rumors about you, your grace.” She smiled. “Some even call you a bastard.”

“I hope it became less frequent in the last weeks.“

“It did.”

There was a clear interest in the young woman's eyes. Joffrey felt her look on his hand.

“A memory left by lord Stannis. I took his head, he got to take my wrist.”

“And your face?”

“Lord, that did it, is currently blockading the Dragonstone in my name.”

“I heard the gossips. You made them turn against their lord.”

“And swear to me. Nothing binds people more than common betrayal.”

“Only common loyalty.”

“Or common interest.”

The young woman laughed.

“We have no one to betray, but each other, and our loyalties are very different.” Arianne looked him in the eyes. “What common interest do you have in mind?”

“I have two. Would you like to guess, princess?”

“It would be boring. Justice is the first. Surprise me with the second.”

“Both of them are justice.” Joffrey smiled. “The first is for your house, the second is for you.”

“You can’t give me the first, leave it for Oberyn. What do you mean by the second?”

“I will say two names. You will tell me if you are interested.”

Arianne cautiously looked at him.

“I am listening.”

“Quentyn. Cletus”

Her younger brother and his foster family, the second strongest house in Dorne. Her smile immediately became tense.

“Imagine for a moment that I am interested."

“Then we have a common interest.”

Joffrey sat back, waiting. Arianne was thinking. He allowed himself to lower his eyes. Princess was beautiful, there was little point arguing about that. Was she smart? That was the question.

“I have very little interest in the Iron Throne.”

“And I have very little interest in Dorne.”

There was a pause.

“It means marriage.” She looked at him. “Why do you think I am still not married at my age?”

It was an interesting question Joffrey did not know the answer too.

“Prince Doran couldn’t decide on a suitable candidature?”

“Close, but not close enough.”

“Prince Doran did not want to decide on a suitable candidature?”

Arianne smiled.

“Better.”

“I see.” Joffrey smiled. “Does princess Arianne Martell wish to decide on the candidate’s suitability herself?”

“She is not sure.” Arianne looked at him. “Give her the options."

“I see it going two ways. As an alliance or as a union.” Joffrey smiled. “The choice is in the hands of the princess.”

“And what is the difference?”

“Princess might decide to stay in Sunspear. She will be given an advisory position and treated accordingly to her rank. The princess and the king will hold two separate courts.” Joffrey looked her in the eyes. “She wouldn’t need to share the bed with the king if that would be her wish.”

Arianne looked at him carefully.

“Dorne will need an heir.”

“And an heir has a habit to appear after copulation or two. The king and the princess will consummate the marriage and never spend a night in the same chambers ever again.”

Arianne nodded, thoughtful. Her usual smile was lost.

“And what is the second option?”

“Princess might decide to become the queen,” Joffrey whispered. “She might try and build a family with the king. Their children will not be just Baratheons or Martells. They will stand above them, as would children of their children.”

Joffrey closed his eyes, resting for a bit. It was a damn hard month. It will only become harder further.

“Princess will think about it.”

“Good,” Joffrey answered. “And Arianne?”

“Yes, Joffrey?”

“As long as you stay in Harrenhal, you are my guest of honor. I do not dare to doubt prince Oberyn prowess or that of your men, but feel free to command any of my guards if you will ever feel a need to do so. They will do your bidding.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Describe to me your disposition.”

“Very well.” Joffrey did not bother to smile. With Tywin there was no point in it. “Every house in the Crownland to the south of King’s Landing bent the knee. With the vassals of Dragonstone, it gives me about thirteen thousand, five of which I took with me. With enough time I will bring the rest of the Crownlands to compliance.”

“How much time is enough?”

“Two weeks. I would have sent Barristan with an army, but I need him in the city.”

Joffrey paused. Tywin was sitting in front of him, in the same place Edmure was standing yesterday and also without his guard.

Joffrey doubted he would dare to order Arys as much as to touch his sword.

“What did Stannis' death bring to you?”

Tywin’s voice was cold. Joffrey shivered.

“Three thousand men directly from his vassals and four thousand from the rest of Crownlands. Twenty ships, and the end of the gossips about my parentage.”

“In other words, you exchanged Jaime’s life for seven thousand men.”

“I had secured the Crownlands” Joffrey answered. “I was going to re-take Chyttering Brook and got ambushed by Stannis. It was my mistake. I do not refuse the responsibility.”

“Good,” Tywin answered. “Learn from it.”

“I will,” Joffrey promised. “I had demanded the open path and supplies for your army from Tully.”

“You demanded?”

“They learned about the plot with the old Frey.” He shrugged. “I wanted to buy the passage, but it did not work out.”

“What did they ask for in return?”

“Nothing reasonable. For me to leave Riverlands.” Joffrey shook his head. “Edmure Tully is an idiot. I wanted to offer him Mircella and place in the council, but…”

“Some people are fools, Joffrey. Do not assume their intellect before the negotiation. Do not assume anything.”

Silence filled the room. Joffrey wished he had brought the wine.

“I had secured northern neutrality.”

“You secured Eddard Stark's neutrality. Do not confuse him for the whole North.” Tywin looked him in the eyes. “How did you achieve it?”

“He was too scared for his daughters.”

“You will keep the oldest with you, then?”

“No.”

“Don’t tell me you are counting on honor, Joffrey. I raised you better than that.”

“I count on the oath of Eddard Stark, given in front of the whole realm and his vassals. It is the best guarantee we can get.”

“You are gambling. Not counting.” Tywin told him. “An oath is not a guarantee.”

“This whole war is gambling. Keeping a hostage is what almost led to all northern lords coming at our doors.” Joffrey answered. “Do you want me to speak honestly?”

“Try to."

“I do not see how this war can be won. At least without the Martells.”

Tywin did not answer.

“Renly outnumbers us two to one. He can field up to a hundred thousand, and our combined forces are barely reaching fifty.” Joffrey elaborated. “The North is obviously out, I had barely managed to keep them from an outright rebellion. The Riverlands are out of the question, too, now. The Vale is ruled by a barely sane widow who also happens to be a Tully, and Stormlands and Reach are in an outright rebellion.”

Joffrey held under his grandfather’s heavy stare. Tywin nodded.

“Go on.”

“His army is in Cider Hall now, and it is using roseroad as a major route. The whole Reach is the supply base, we can not cut him from it. Major forces from the Stormlands are gathering in Bitterbridge, and it is in two weeks from King’s Landing. I believe the main attack will come from Dalston Keep, using the Roseroad, but the Stormlands are under his control, and kingsroad will work just as well.”

“You had burned the Chyttering.” Tywin looked at Joffrey. “I assume you destroyed the bridge.”

“The army of ten thousand will cross the Wendwater without it, or will build a new one.” Joffrey shook his head. “Besides, Renly has the Redwyne fleet. The royal fleet is stronger now, with Stannis dead, but it is busy with the Dragonstone blockade.”

“The blockade can be lifted.”

“A fleet can also get attacked in the rear.”

Tywin thought for a moment.

“Go on.”

“Renly does not need to take the capital with one assault. We share the longest border in Westeros. The Tyrells can invade the Westerands first, through Deep Den or Crackhall.”

“They will drown in blood. I know my lands, Joffrey. They are fortified mountains that can hold back an army twice of their size.”

“They have blood to spare. We do not.” He looked at Tywin. “Your army can’t be in the Crownlands and the Westerlands at the same time. I can’t hold the Crownlands myself.”

Renly had more than enough forces to attack both the Westerlands and the Crownlands simultaneously.

“You want to bring Dorne in the war.”

“I do.”

Tywin looked at him and slowly nodded.

“Elaborate.”

“The Martells are standing in a month from Highgarden. Even if they will just stand on the border, it will force the Tyrells to keep part of their army back at home. It will limit the power of Renly’s push on the King’s Landing.”

Tywin looked at him, waiting.

“But?”

“Their push will be limited in scale,” Joffrey muttered. “Without fleet, they can attack only through the Prince’s Pass, and the Dornish Marches will keep them busy.”

“Good,” Tywin answered quietly. “What is your plot with Martells?”

“After you organized the murder of…”

“Elia did not need to die,” Tywin said. “Only the children. A fool's mistake.”

“A costly mistake.”

“It was required for the future of our house, Joffrey. Don’t tell me you had suddenly started to cry over the children’s grave.”

“I couldn’t care less about them.”

“But?”

“We need to compensate for it to the Martells if we want their support.”

“The only compensation Doran will accept is my - and your - head.” Tywin chuckled. “The old snake is as vindictive as the snake on his sigil.”

“Doran. Not Arianna.”

“The girl does not have support.”

“The girl is scared that her brother will take the throne from her.” Joffrey smiled. “I am her best bet to secure the order of succession. She may marry me first and put Doran in front of the new reality.”

“He will just disinherit her. You get a dornish whore without dowry as a wife.”

Joffrey smiled.

“You would disinherit her. I would disinherit her. Martell had lost his sister seventeen years ago and still holds the grudge. Look me in the eyes and tell me he will just throw his only daughter out of the house.”

Tywin fell silent, thinking.

“What compensation do you have in mind?”

“Heads, obviously. And whatever the old snake will ask.”

There was a pause.

“Work on it. You will have your heads.”

“Thank you.”

“You will thank me after the war will be won. What other alliances do you have in mind?"

“Only houses Arryn and Greyjoy are left.

“Don’t waste your time on Arryn.”

“Was not going too.”

Jon Arryn’s widow was both a Tully and a half-mad fanatic. Joffrey remembered her from the King’s Landing, and she was not a person capable of holding her part of the bargain. Besides, she had declared of the Vale’s neutrality. It was already more than he expected.

“Would you find a couple of ships to raid the Shield Islands?”

Tywin was silent for a moment. He understood Joffrey’s idea, of course.

“It will take more than a couple of ships, Joffrey. Much more.”

“I can give you the Royal Fleet.”

Tywin shook his head.

“It is too far. When you men will arrive it will be too late for the attack."

“We don’t need to burn all their fleet or even take the Shield Islands. Just make it weak enough for the Greyjoy’s attack.”

Tywin was silent.

“With Mander unprotected half of the Reach will be under the attack. They will have to keep their men at home.”

“Or finish the war in one strike.” Tywin’s stare was heavy. “Be careful. When you are attacked from two sides, you divide the army.”

“And if there are many weaker enemies you finish them one by one.” Joffrey nodded. “I remember.”

“Good,” Tywin answered. “Go and court Martell’s whore. I will talk with the Red Viper.”


	13. Chapter 13

Joffrey woke up to the sound of horns. The night was torn apart by the neighing of horses, the clatter of hooves, and the light of hundreds of torches. Knights, clad in heavy armor, flooded Harrenhal like a river of steel, gold, and silver.

Joffrey expected to see the Stark’s direwolf on a white field or Manderly’s merman with a trident but did not find them. He saw the black, crowned stag on a gold field instead. A sigil, almost identical to his own. It was accompanied by the rose of Tyrell and surrounded by the sigils of major houses from the Stormlands and the Reach.

Renly Baratheon had arrived.

"My invitation for a tourney got lost on the way, I afraid." Renly smiled. He was cheerful and well-dressed, and demonstratively took off the crown when he came inside the great hall. "I am glad to see you, nephew. You had matured."

Joffrey ignored the compliment. He was too startled to talk and was desperately trying to get himself together. He knew that such a sudden arrival before the sunrise was intended to take him by surprise, but it was successful nonetheless.

Renly managed to surprise him.

"Why are you here?"

They sat in the empty great hall, with all guards and servants left outside. Renly's bodyguard, Loras, desperately tried to stay by his liege's side. It took a direct order to get him out. The Hall of the Hundred Hearths had enough space to accommodate an army, but there was the place for only two of them now.

“Does uncle need a reason to visit his nephew?”

"When said uncle is trying to rob said nephew from his inheritance? Yes, he does." Joffrey sighed. "You wanted to talk. Talk."

“Very well." Renly smiled. "You impressed me. Brilliant job with Stark. Last time I saw him, he refused my help and threw a tantrum in Stannis' support.”

Joffrey chuckled.

“Flattery? You intend to buy me, don’t you?”

“Why else would I be here?” Renly answered calmly. “Do we go through the facts, first, or would you like to straight away hear my offer?”

“I would like to hear your facts,” Joffrey answered. “Then you will hear mine.”

“Alright.” Renly politely smiled. “Fact one, Dorne will not support you. It was a nice ploy, nephew, but it will not work.”

“Nephew? The last time you called me a bastard and declared you’ll put my head on a spike.”

“As I had said, you impressed me. You did my job for me with the Starks and Stannis. Believe it or not, I feel slightly grateful.” Renly grinned. “You might not have noticed in the dark, but I brought with me a certain companion that bears a certain sigil.”

“Do tell.”

“Young Cletus Yronwood will be jousting today. We talked with his father a week ago, and came to an arrangement.” Renly smiled. “As I said, Martells will not support you. If they try, Yronwood’s will close the mountain passes in front of them. It won’t necessarily defeat them, but it will hold them back for a month or two.”

And the war would be over by then.

“I should believe you on your word?”

“Do talk with Cletus.” Offered Renly. “You don’t join the king’s army if you do not intend to support him.”

Joffrey clenched his fists. It was… bad. First Tully, and now Yronwood. Everything was going to hell.

“How did you learn about it?”

“You did not have many options to begin with, and the Shield Islands garrison is tripled.” Renly smiled. “Joffrey, I was preparing for this war for ten years. You will not forge a sufficient defense force in a month. You need time for it, and I will not give it to you.”

Joffrey chuckled.

“I still have Westerlands and Crownlands. Throw Tully into the pot, and it is three kingdoms against two.”

“True.” Renly agreed. “Yet my army is already standing at Bitterbridge, and yours will need time to assemble. And even then it still will be smaller than mine.”

“Why are you here and not assaulting the King’s Landing, then?”

Renly smiled.

“I neither want nor need this war. The South will not survive it. I want to rule the kingdom, not it’s ashes.”

“That’s what differs us, Renly. I am fine with ashes.”

Renly leaned back and laughed. It was a rich, pleasant laugh of a man that heard a good joke.

“I knew you will say that.” Renly chuckled. “Still fascinated by Rhaenyra? Never change, nephew. Never change."

Joffrey looked at him, bewildered.

“It was a childhood crush!” He shook his head. “What is the offer?”

Renly made a pause and looked him in the eyes.

“I love men, Joffrey. Not women. As you might have guessed it makes it rather complicated to sire children.” He smiled. “And by the way, thank you for making the realm aware of that.”

“You made the realm think that I came from incest. There will be no apology.”

Renly chuckled. “Fair enough.” He nodded. “As I had said, I will never have my own children. And with Stannis dead, it makes you my direct heir.”

“That is your offer?” Joffrey looked at him. “Are you taking me for a fool? We both know Margaery will find a way to get you an heir.”

“And what makes you think that I care about Tyrell offspring?” Renly smiled. His eyes were cold. “Do what you do best, Joffrey. Think.”

“You expect me to wait for the throne? Really?”

“Joffrey, you are twelve. I was the same age when Robert took the throne and gave me Storm’s End.”

“So what?”

“Have patience. You have ten thousand men that you managed to squeeze out of the Crownlands in two weeks, thirty thousand from the Westerlands and Dorne that you are trying to recruit in the last two days. I have a hundred thousand, gathered and ready, standing in two weeks from the capital and I was preparing them for years.” Renly looked him in the eyes. “You are twelve, nephew. Take the Stormlands, Storm’s End, and, if you like the Targaryen’s so much, Dragonstone. Grow up. Learn how to wield a sword. Bind the Martells so tight that no one could take them from you as I have. Gather a real army and take the throne after my death. That is my offer.”

The room fell into silence. Joffrey was clenching his right fist so hard his fingers became white.

“Tywin will not agree for peace.”

“And will stand alone against the whole kingdom.” Renly shook his head. “He will secure the position of the Hand, and I will pay out all the crown debt to Lannisters. It will be enough for ten years. Tommen will become a new Lord Paramount then.

“And if I will refuse?”

“We will start a war, and burn all of the South in it.” Renly quietly answered. “You may risk and get the ashes, or be patient and inherit all of the Seven Kingdoms. I am your Maegor, Joffrey. Aegon the Uncrowned made an attempt, and how did he end?”

“You do not have Balerion.”

“My army is twice the size of yours,” Renly whispered. “You might lose much more than a hand, nephew.”

There was silence. Joffrey was thinking, and couldn’t find a way out. Renly was better prepared and in a much better position. And yet…

“I do not see the situation improving in ten or twenty years.” Joffrey shook his head. “It is still two kingdoms against two, and Tyrells will only grow stronger. They will still push Margaery’s child into power.”

Renly smiled.

“Then use it.”

“I am sorry?”

“Use it, nephew.” Renly’s grin became only wider, seeing the puzzled expression on Joffrey’s face. “You are correct, Tyrells will try to get Margaery’s child on the throne after my death. But the child has two parents.”

“You are kidding,” Joffrey whispered. “Do you really offer me too…”

“It is what Tywin wanted all along, was he not? That’s why he married your mother to Robert. He wanted his blood on the Iron Throne. This way he will get it.”

Joffrey was silent. That… he never expected such an offer, least of all from Renly.

“You are not just trying to prevent a war. You are creating a counterbalance to Tyrells, aren’t you?”

With the Stormlands under Joffrey and the Westerlands under Tywin, they would be pretty much equal to the Tyrells in money and manpower, balancing their influence in the South. With Tywin defeated, the Tyrells could simply wait for Margaery to give birth and murder Renly, installing their regency. With Joffrey alive and in power, it would only bring them another war.

Renly smiled.

“No one loves to be too dependent. Mace is becoming too demanding lately.”

Joffrey shook his head. It was hard to take.

“That is your offer, then? You get the throne for life and Tyrells and Lannisters support at the same time, I get your lands now and the throne in the future and Tywin gets his grandson and great-grandson on the throne?”

“You summarized it well enough.”

Joffrey looked at the man. The last Baratheon was calm, but he knew that it was only a facade. Renly stood one nod from the throne.

Joffrey sighed.

“You will name me your hand and an heir presumptive. If Margaery will only birth daughters, I will directly inherit the throne.”

“Agreed.”

“If she births a boy, you will send him to Casterly Rock to be fostered. If Tywin is dead by then, you will send him to Storm’s End and I will personally foster him.”

“Agreed.”

“All trade in the Narrow Sea will be mine. I will decide the duties and customs, and all rights and privileges of the Prince of Dragonstone will be reinstated.”

“Agreed.”

“You by your authority will guarantee the betrothal and marriage between Myrcella and Robert Arryn.

“Agreed.”

“I will bend the knee after you transfer the lands, and the Stormlander lords swear to me.”

“Do you really trust me so little?” Renly smiled. “Agreed. And before you ask, you may keep your guard and Barristan in your service. I have my own kingsguard.”

Joffrey chuckled.

“Are you really going to make them wear a rainbow?”

“You’ll see.” Renly smiled. “I knew you would make the right decision, prince Joffrey.”

Joffrey clenched his teeth.

“It wasn’t hard, your grace. Your wife was good compensation.” Joffrey looked his uncle in the eyes. “Renly?”

“Yes?”

“If something unfortunate happens to me, all bets are off. Tywin will crown Tommen and bathe your realm in blood.”

“Noted."

————-

Huge thanks to the Argentorum for a grammar check of the chapter. I am looking for the beta, PM me if you are interested.

And leave the comments, I do read and enjoy them.


	14. Chapter 14

Joffrey opened the book. If was a two-century-old diary of a noble lady. Not of a lady. Of a Queen. Of Alicent Hightower, the queen during the Dance of the Dragons.

It was truly a royal gift.

“Renly told you of my interests, I take it?”

“He did.” She smiled. “But your interest in the Targaryen history is well known.”

Joffrey pushed the book to the side. He made a pause, collecting his thoughts. The first impulse was just to get Renly’s queen murdered, but Tyrell’s had more than enough daughters to marry off, even if they came not from the major line. It will be complicated to kill her without leaving a trace leading back to him, and it will not bring anything of value.

He would also like to murder Renly, but it will be both hard and dangerous. With their king lost Tyrells may just drop the pretense and put someone from their line on the throne. It will likely start a huge civil war, but his chances would not become any better.

“Politeness aside, I suspect Renly told you about our compromise.”

Her face became sour.

“He did.”

“Good. What are your terms?”

“My terms?”

“Your husband is a sword-swallower and will never be able to perform. We both know it.”

“True.”

“I am the heir presumptive. You will want your children to take the throne after Renly’s death.” Joffrey sighed. “It is a can of a wildfire that will blow up in our faces in fifteen years.”

“And you want me to bear your children.”

Her voice was cold and her eyes were sharp. Joffrey liked her.

“It solves the problem.”

A whole layer of problems with Tyrells claimants in fifteen years. He will become new Renly, with her children in his place, and with Tyrells in the place of Lannisters.

Having them as his children removes the problem. Of course, it will make Renly look like a cuckold when the knowledge becomes public, but he will be dead by then.

Besides, he already was all but a public man lover. You can not get lower than that reputation-wise.

It will also make Margaery a mother of the bastards, but she will become one either way. Bastards from him will at least come from the only adult Baratheon left and will be legitimized immediately upon Renly’s death, becoming new heirs to the throne.

It will be in his best interest to legitimize them, after all. Children can not stand in the line of inheritance before their father.

“We risk a full out war in fifteen years by not doing it.” Joffrey shook his head. “Margaery, I gave up the throne to prevent one. You will have children either way. You may have them with me, and secure Lannister support and the Stormlands as the inheritance for them after my death, or with anyone else and pray to the gods that your family power will be enough to keep them on the throne against the whole realm.”

“Talking from personal experience?”

“Yes.” Joffrey looked at her. “I will be the next Renly in fifteen years. You may have my full support or have me as your worst enemy. It is your choice.”

Margaery's eyes were cold.

“I want the same terms as you.”

“Clarify.”

“Arianne Martell.” Margaery eyes became colder. “You are going to marry her for the alliance. Children come as the result of a marriage.”

“They don’t in your case. Or we wouldn’t be here.”

“Lady Martell’s reputations suggest she is not similar to Renly.” Margaery looked at him. “Do you suggest there is a problem on your side, prince Joffrey? Maybe you are unable to perform, too?”

“Point to you.” He sighed. “I will ask again, what are your terms?”

“I don’t like to share.” Her eyes were sharp and cold. “Least of all I like to share my children’s position. If we are doing it, you cancel the marriage and do not have another until Renly's death. You may have bastards, but I do not want any other legitimate or acknowledged children on aside.”

“It will cost me an alliance.”

“Not doing it will cost you me.”

It was reasonable. As reasonable as something can be in their situation. For fuck sake, according to the gossips, her brother was fucking her husband. Nothing was reasonable there.

“I will refuse from the marriage on the grounds of existing betrothal. With any luck, it will stick for the next couple of years.”

Margaery nodded.

“Good. We both are risking a lot engaging in this ploy, prince. Compromises are required.”

“We will find them.” Joffrey sighed. “No point in doing it otherwise.”

***

“Arys?”

“Yes, your grace?”

“It is your ‘your highness’ or ‘my prince’, now.” Joffrey sighed. “At least for the nearest future.”

Arys nodded.

“I will remember it, your grace.”

Joffrey smiled.

“Flatterer.”

Arys looked at him.

“What are you going to do, your grace?” There was very obvious concern in his voice. “I had rearranged the guard, bringing the Dragonstone knights in the inner ring of the defense, but they are the smallest part of our force.”

“I will bend the knee in two or three days, at the end of the tourney.” Joffrey sighed. “You will get the stormlanders under your command.”

“Can they be trusted?”

“No one can be trusted. That’s why I will ask Tywin to lend me a household guard for a couple of months. You and Barristan will have to organize the new force in Storm’s End.”

“Understood.”

“Good."

“Should I write to ser Barristan?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Lord Commander was busy hiring the new Gold Cloaks. Most of them will decide to stay in the capital, but two or three hundred will probably agree to move to Storm’s End. If you will cover the living and moving expenses for them and their families.”

“Good idea, Arys. You will have the money.” Joffrey thought for a moment. “What kind of compensation do you desire?”

“Your grace?”

“You are no longer a member of the Kingsguard or will stop being one in a couple of days. The oath you gave to me is no longer binding.”

Arys looked offended.

“I do not serve for compensation!”

“And I need no slaves.” Joffrey sighed. “You have been complaining about marriage for months. Do you have anyone in mind?”

The young knight blushed.

“Arys?”

“I… is it important, your grace?”

“It is.”

“Well…” Joffrey could barely believe his eyes. Ser Arys Oakheart, his left hand and the only person he trusted to protect him in Barristan's absence, was blushing like a boy before his first night with a woman. “There is a certain lady…”

“Do tell me she is not Sansa Stark.” Almost pleaded Joffrey.

“What? No! She is a child.” Arys answered. “She is… may I not answer, your grace?”

Joffrey sighed.

“Arys?”

“Yes, your grace?”

“Driftmark is yours.”

“Your grace!?”

“All Velarions are pretty much dead bar a bastard. And they still did not surrender to the blockade.” Joffrey sighed. “Take it, and marry whoever you like.”

“I… thank you, your grace.”

“Don’t thank me. Recruit from there enough forces we can bring to Storm’s End.”

“I will, your grace.”

Joffrey nodded. He wanted to give the castle to Barristan, but the old knight would never agree to it. Besides, he would rather have thrown the whole Dragonstone at the old man. Offering minor lordship after so many years of life-saving service would have sounded more like an insult.

Robert wanted to grant him a lordship for years, but Barristan always refused from retirement despite his age.

Even on the only small council meeting Robert had attended in years… Scared, hateful Robert.

Joffrey felt a shiver running down his spine.

“Arys?”

“Yes, your grace?”

“Tell Barristan to take the Maekar's crown with him before he will leave the Red Keep.” Joffrey thought for a moment. “And tell him to prepare a fast, but durable ship with a trusted crew. Completely trusted crew. If he has slightest doubts in their loyalty or ability to stay silent, he should not take them.”

“Yes, your grace,” Arys answered. “Might I ask what do you have in mind?"

Joffrey felt smirk appearing on his lips.

“Renly had crossed the line.” He whispered. “I believe a certain… restoration is in order."

\------------

Please leave the comments, I do read and enjoy them.


	15. Chapter 15

Joffrey was thinking.

He was sitting in the solar of lord of Storm’s End, right at the top of the one and the only tower of the castle. It was a huge building that could handle any tempest. Or, at least, that is what the name made him believe.

Joffrey was thinking, and his thoughts were not joyful.

Renly did not have legitimacy, not really. He was accepted due to Tyrell's support, and other parts of the realm tolerated him as a compromise figure, but he was not supported. His only right to rule was the precedent, set by Robert. And Robert relied on the support of the four kingdoms out of seven, later marrying into the fifth.

Both Renly and Joffrey lost the northern coalition. Stark despised them both, Tully's were too weak to control their own vassals, house Arryn only had a boy of five and a barely sane widow. But the Stormlands were now his.

In one way surrendering the throne made Joffrey’s position stronger. Instead of wasting his time on the whole continent, he was now free to build his own coalition. And any conflict that will happen, and they will happen, will be Renly’s concern, not his.

In order to not just claim, but to hold the power one needed the support of at least four kingdoms. Joffrey already had the Stormlands and the Westerlands on his side. The Reach counted as two kingdoms, and the Crownlands gave Renly the advantage. It was a shaky balance on the South, with the North being too busy with its own troubles. Joffrey will be unable to go against Renly until the North will change enough for him to gain support.

It was a long game. He and Tywin will slowly assimilate the Riverlands, overtaking some of the major houses in exchange for money or services. Even without the marriage, the pact with Arianne still could be fulfilled. There were many Lannisters of age, starting from Kevan’s sons, and combined forces of the Stormlands and the Westerlands will be enough to keep her on the throne.

It left the former north coalition. Eddard Stark was not eternal, and Joffrey already earned Sansa’s trust. It meant little, but there was no bad blood between him and the Starks. His part in Robert’s murder meant a lot for Eddard but will mean nothing for his son.

Robert Arryn will be betrothed with Myrcella as part of the deal with Renly, bringing the Vale into his coalition. It made four and a half kingdoms in the worst, and five and a half kingdoms supporting him in the best case.

It was a nice picture, and it worked only if there were only two candidates in a struggle for the throne. Everything went to hell otherwise. Every soldier that swore to a third party cause was a soldier not supporting Joffrey.

Joffrey needed absolute control over the potential claimants that could get the support. Renly’s official children with Margaery were taken care of. It left only one source of claims. Like it or not, but Daenerys Targaryen was the pretender and claimant on the throne.

She could be used, or some lysene girl could be easily disguised as her with the same result. Robert decided that she needed to die.

Joffrey would have chosen the opposite for that reason alone.

“Arys?”

“Yes, your grace?”

“How does Joffrey the Conciliator sounds?”

“Good, your grace.” Young knight looked at him, thinking. “Are you going to conciliate with the Targaryens?”

“I will.” Joffrey nodded. “Barristan had prepared the ship and got the crown. Now we only need to find the girl.”

Her brother was dead, according to the rumors that Barristan had sent to him, and it was a rather lucky coincidence. Joffrey would have organized one himself otherwise. Still, it will be complicated to find one girl in the whole continent.

“May I ask?”

“Sure do.”

“Why did you choose the Crown of Maekar, your grace? Who was he?”

Arys was looking at him with an obvious curiosity in his eyes. Joffrey indulged him.

“The warrior king that came to power after two Blackfire Rebellions… not perfect choice, true, I would have preferred Aegon’s, but it was lost to Daeron’s stupidity. Still, choosing between Maekar and Aenys I choose Maekar.”

“Your grace?”

“Yes?”

“I afraid no one but maesters will see the difference.” Arys looked embarrassed. “History of the Targaryen dynasty is not what one might call well known.”

Joffrey chuckled.

“That is the point.”

“Your grace?”

“They will know about Maekar what we will tell them.” Joffrey smiled. “Daenerys is no Daemon, she has no reputation of her own. She will need to base her legitimacy on someone else. The first association will be the Mad King and, well, we need to erase that one.”

“Why not Aegon the Conqueror?” Arys looked at him. “He is the founder of the dynasty and the legend.”

“Fire and Blood… Aegon is too brutal, it sends the wrong message. When you say ‘Aegon’, people hear ‘the field of fire'. More importantly, the lords hear the same.” Joffrey snapped his fingers, thinking. “Aerys means instability, Aegon means to conquer, Aenys can’t cut it, he was remembered as a little bitch… I considered Jaehaerys, but he was a peaceful king. Not the type we need.”

“And Maekar? What is he known for?”

“For nothing, really. The fourth son, warrior king, killed his brother during the Trial of Seven… he is not well known, and it is good because we can tell anything we want about him and people will believe it.” Joffrey smiled. “Good old times. Old enough that no one remembers anything now, and not marked by too much blood."

“Wouldn’t it defeat the whole point, your grace?” Arys looked at him. “Targaryens always spoke from the position of power. To choose Maekar when you can appeal to Aegon just doesn’t sound right to me.”

“True. But we do not do the reconquest here. It is a peaceful restoration.” Joffrey sighed. “Dragonstone was Targaryens' ancestral seat from the time immemorial, even before the Valyria fell. No one can object to their reclamation. I want to try the legitimacy angle first, we can always return to the Fire and Blood if it fails.”

“Your father declared them the enemies of the realm.”

“And I am restoring them. Son of the Usurper brings the daughter of the Mad King back to the realm and marries her. Name me the stronger symbol of peace and reconciliation.” Joffrey chuckled. “I have all of Robert’s legitimacy. If anyone can pull it off, it's me.”

There was a pause.

“You give a lot of importance to the symbols, your grace.

“It is all about symbols, Arys. They are sending the message.” Joffrey shrugged. “What do you think, will you bow to a girl?”

He crawled the Prince of Dragonstone title out of Renly for a good reason. The title still bore some legitimacy and a strong fleet with it. It gave control over the Narrow Sea and all of its trade, which meant that the new Targaryen princess will not be impoverished.

“Are you going to give the title to a woman?”

Arys' voice was curiously neutral. Joffrey expected more resistance.

“Not to a woman. To the last Targaryen.”

And poor Arys, as the new lord of Driftmark, will have to bend the knee for her. It was rather ironic in its own right.

“May I ask, your grace?”

Joffrey looked at him, trying to figure out the question.

“Why don’t I just kill her?”

Arys nodded, ashamed. Strange.

“Is it because of your… sympathy to her ancestors?”

Joffrey smiled.

“No, but I love the idea. We shall keep it as the official reason.”

“Why, then?”

“I hate to burn the cards on hands.” Joffrey shrugged. “It is wasteful to just kill her.”

Making peace with Targaryens will bring the last line of the throne claimants under his control and push the peacemaker agenda. He had already saved the Westeros from one useless war, abdicating to his uncle. It was only suitable to finish the blood feud between the Baratheons and Targaryens.

And the best part? Joffrey was known for his crush on Targaryens among the court. Even Renly will probably believe in the official version.


	16. Chapter 16

The morning was sunny and the wind was almost absent. Robert's Hammer deck was hardly moving. Joffrey felt nauseous and tired.

Lord Sunglass’ dumb expression did not make him any calmer.

“It had been a month, lord Guncer.”

“Yes, your highness.”

“The war is over. Stannis is dead. You had delivered his head to the rebels.”

“Yes, your highness.”

“You have twice as many ships, and thrice more men than them.”

Whispered Joffrey. He had managed to visit a Harrenhal tourney, to give up the throne, to get the Stormlands under his control, to visit them, and come back to the King’s Landing. And yet…

“Would you kindly explain to me why is the Dragonstone still not taken?”

Lord Guncer Sunglass, a septon in lord’s clothing, only looked down.

“They do not surrender, your highness. They keep fighting back!” The old man sounded almost offended. “We had blockaded them, they must have given up weeks ago, but they didn’t. It almost like lord Stannis…”

“They are rebels, lord Gunter. That is what they do! Fighting!” Joffrey cursed. “Do you tell me that my uncle had returned back from the dead and is repeating his legendary feats of the siege endurance?”

The old lord looked down, in obvious hesitation.

“I… I do not, my prince. Lord Stannis is dead.”

“At least on that, we agree. Who is leading the rebels?”

“Melisandre of Asshai, your highness.”

Joffrey nodded. He heard about her, once or twice. Faced with an imminent loss, his desperate uncle turned to magic, poor fool.

“Who is she?”

“A shadowbinder, your highness. She joined lord Stannis court before the rebellion. I was there at a time.”

“How do you know she is the leader?”

“She started to preach her heresy right on the first day she came to the court and managed to lure the poor lady Florent into it. With lord Stannis dead and all of his knights lost, it leaves only the queens men on the island.”

Joffrey sighed. Of course, it would be the damned fanatics. Who else would stick to holding the castle even after the war was lost?

“Did you try to negotiate the surrender?”

“I did, your highness.” Lord Sunglass answered, bitter. “They sent back the burned corpse of the messenger.”

Talk about pretentious.

“Do we have enough troops for a direct assault?”

It was not an optimal choice by any means. Joffrey had limited troops, but the blockade was costly and will become only increasingly so with time. War in the Narrow Sea was ruinous for trade, and he needed money.

“I afraid we do not, your highness. We will need reinforcements.”

Part of him wanted to hand the blockade to Renly and let him waste his troops on it. But it was not an option. The Dragonstone was his fief.

“Your highness! The ship!”

A small ship sailed away from the Dragonstone, heading towards them. There was no flag on it.

“Drown it if it will try to come any closer,” Joffrey ordered. “Send a boat to meet the messenger.”

Knowing the fanatics, they will probably fill the boat with the wildfire. It was a secret of the pyromancers, but who knew what Asshai witch might know. Better not to take any chances.

“Your highness, they had killed our envoy!”

Joffrey sighed.

“It is never too late to kill someone. Let them speak first.”

It did not take long for the Dragonstone envoy to reach them. A young and fair woman, she had long hair the color of burnished copper, deep red eyes, and pale, unblemished skin.

“Your grace.” The woman bowed. “My name is Melisandre of Asshai. I had foreseen your arrival in the fire.”

“It is ‘your highness’, now. And I doubt you needed to look too hard, with blockade going the way it is.” Joffrey chuckled. “Does your presence means you surrender?"

“It does.” The woman smiled. “On the one condition.”

Angry whispers went down the deck.

“Don’t you think too much of yourself? Your lord is dead, your war is lost and your castle is besieged. You are in no position to set conditions.”

Melisandre smiled.

“It will not bring any hardship to you, your highness. And will take nowt but a minute.”

Joffrey sighed. He hated the solutions handed to him on a silver plate. Still… from everything that he heard before she was either a fanatic or at least pretended to be one.

“Do you want me to swear on your god’s name?” Joffrey looked her in the eyes. “Do you want me to prove to your flock the purity of my intent?”

Fanatics that had beared the burdens and hardship of a siege will have trouble with understanding the need to surrender to the very man they considered the enemy. A certain encouragement might be required.

The only question was what the false prophetess wanted to gain for it.

“I… yes, your highness.” Melisandre looked at him, surprised. “I am glad that you understand.”

“What is the ritual? I have no time to waste.”

Instead of answering, Melisandre raised her hand. Bright fire lit upon it, enveloping the gold jewelry. Joffrey chuckled. It was a cheap, but flashy trick, designed for those who had never seen the fire eaters.

Still, he heard the gasps around them.

“Can you do the same with the wildfire?”

Melisandre only smiled, ignoring the question.

“Would you look into the fire, your highness?”

“Just look?”

Her voice was deep, and for some reason, Joffrey couldn’t look away from the jewelry set aflame.

“Touch it, if you want to.”

Fire on the woman’s palm was not burning out. It was right there, so very, very close.

“Arys, kill her if she will try something,” Joffrey ordered. “If it will not work, and your flock will not surrender, I will burn you on stake and order to start the assault. You better be damn sure in your actions.”

Melisandre did not answer, waiting with her hand held out. Joffrey sighed and touched her palm with the leftovers of his left hand. He valued his last and only whole hand way too much to rick it.

Nothing happened, at first. The flame on her palm was barely warm, as he expected from a clever trick. And then…

A tiny, crying girl, lying helplessly on a mountain peak with the world crashing and burning around her. Fire and blood flowing in equal measure. Mountains burning from the inside. Clouds of smoke bigger than the sky itself. A liquid fire that makes the sea to explode. Dragons, dead and dying, falling, impaled on the sharp mountain peaks, with wings broken and bones shattered. The Doom of Valyria. The apocalypse.

The fire that suddenly turns into ice. Dead that raise. Crimson, that becomes white. Remnants of the great beasts, alive yet dead.

Crimson comet shattering the sky. Boiling sea, harpy with the claws of bronze, a red, deserted wasteland. A girl, almost the same as before, burning on the pyre made of dragon bones among the city ruins. Three dragons hatchling in the fire.

Fire, that was barely warm before, turned icy cold. Joffrey heard a scream, his teeth clenched. He felt blood in the mouth. Pain, agonizing, incredible pain exploded in his veins. Long claws made of pure ice clutched into him, tearing him apart.

His whole being turned to ice.

“Don’t!”

He screamed, managing to shout the word through the clenched teeth. He needed the witch alive. Melisandre fell, hit with the hilt of the sword.

Joffrey felt the strong hands lifting him. His hand, or what was left from it, turned black.

It was a frostbite.


	17. Chapter 17

When Joffrey did not know what to do, he was doing what he did best. He consulted with the old kings. Huge, at least two centuries old map of the Essos lied on the table in front of him.

Maester had to cut off the frozen flesh, but the pain was relieved by the milk of the poppy. Joffrey could not bring himself to care about it. The vision still stood in front of his eyes, refusing to fade.

Joffrey was reading. A restored copy of the ‘Sign and Portents’, written by Daenys the Dreamer, was a priceless book. The diary was written four hundred years ago, in the times before the Doom, by the only true prophet in the recorded history.

At least half of the book was lost, but even the remains were invaluable.

A tiny, crying girl, lying helplessly on a mountain peak with the world crashing and burning around her. Fire and blood flowing in equal measure. Mountains burning from the inside. Clouds of smoke bigger than the sky itself. A liquid fire that makes the sea to explode. Dragons, dead and dying, falling, impaled on the sharp mountain peaks, with wings broken and bones shattered.

It was the Doom of Valyria, there could be no doubt about that. What he saw was too similar to what Daenys has described in her own prophesy four hundred years ago. It was the past already fulfilled.

Why show it to him?

Joffrey did not believe in the gods. They did not save the Valyria from its demise, and the gods of the Old Ghis lost to dragons. At best, they were weak. At worst - malevolent.

But weak did not mean useless.

Someone showed to Daena her dream, saving the last dragons and dragon riders. Her vision was so direct it was impossible to misinterpret. Or was it hindsight? Could he misinterpreted her prophesy, being in her place?

He wasn’t sure.

Someone send his vision to him. Someone had a reason to do it.

Services and assistance are never free. Whichever being sent him the vision, it had a clear goal in its mind.

“What did you see, your highness?”

Joffrey looked at her, surprised. He suddenly understood something. Melisandre was confused, perhaps as confused as he was. She did not see his vision.

“If your god didn’t show it to you, you do not need to know. It is between me and him.”

Melisandre sat close to him, waiting for the questions. When he regained the consciousness and maester finished to work on his left hand, the red priestess had officially surrendered. She ordered to Dragonstone garrison to lay down the arms, and they listened. Now the castle was secured by his troops, but Joffrey could not bring himself to care about it.

He immediately left for the Targaryen library. It was the only place where he felt safe.

“What does your god want?”

Melisandre smiled. It was an attractive smile, welcoming, and knowing. It was fake to its very core.

“To help you, your highness. To protect the people and life itself.”

Joffrey smiled in return.

“A beautiful goal. And what does he want in return for his help?”

“Nothing, your highness.”

Joffrey laughed.

“The help is never free. So are the favors.” He barked. “I need no beautiful words, priestess. You are the voice of your god. Speak. If he wants me to do his bidding, he will need to explain himself.”

There was a short silence. Melisandre was collecting her thoughts and Joffrey was trying to get a hold on himself. The last month was hard and tiring. He needed a break.

“The war is coming. He needs your help, your highness.“

“The war? There were a lot of wars, and there are more to come. I had prevented one only recently.”

Melisandre looked at him. Her stare was harsh and cold, full of fanatical conviction. Joffrey liked it. It was the first sincere emotion she allowed herself to show.

“These little wars are no more than a scuffle of children before what is to come. The one whose name may not be spoken is marshaling his power, a power fell and evil and strong beyond measure. Soon comes the cold, and the night that never ends. Unless true men find the courage to fight it. Men whose hearts are fire. Men like you.”

The fire that suddenly turns into ice.

“I had just said, priestess, no beautiful words.” Joffrey stared at her in return. “What do you mean by the cold and night?”

“The Long Night, your highness. The winter, that lasted for generations. The night, when the dead rose to hunt the living. When the Others came. It is coming again, and its lord is coming with it.”

Dead that raise. Crimson, that becomes white. Remnants of the great beasts, alive yet dead.

The old night was a legend from the Age of Heroes. Joffrey never gave them any mind. They were too old to leave any records, and the field of his interest lied on the bottom of the Smoking Sea.

Apparently, it was a mistake.

“Why me?” Joffrey asked. “If he needs someone on the throne, he should have chosen Renly. He is in a better position now.”

If the second Old Night was really coming, and winter was indeed so close, it meant a lot of organizational work. The Night Watch needed to be resupplied and expanded, supply lines assembled, doubled and tripled, and men collected and organized.

R’hllor should have chosen the old Arryn or Renly for that work. If his bet was Stannis, Melisandre’s god sucked at planning.

“Would he listen?” Melisandre smiled. “The Lord of Light choose only those who can understand him and will listen to him.”

Understand him, hah.

Crimson comet shattering the sky. Boiling sea, harpy with the claws of bronze, a red, deserted wasteland. A girl, almost the same as before, burning on the pyre made of dragon bones among the city ruins. Three dragons hatchling in the fire.

Joffrey looked at the map.

If Daenys example was to be believed, that part of the vision described the reality. The time, the place, and the event.

The meaning of the vision was really obvious. Too obvious. Was he led, like Daenys? Was the true prophesy always given in a way it couldn’t be misinterpreted? Or was it given to those who could understand its meaning?

Did he understand the meaning because the vision made it obvious, or was he chosen to see it because his knowledge made it obvious for him?

He needed to check.

“Melisandre?”

“Yes, your highness?”

“Imagine you had seen the boiling sea, a harpy with the claws of bronze, and a red, deserted wasteland.” Joffrey closed his eyes, visualizing the prophecy to the slightest detail. “You had also seen the red comet, a pyre made of the dragon bones and ruins of the city in the desert.”

He pushed the map towards the woman. She looked at it, thinking.

“The boiling sea might mean the Valyria. Harpy is the symbol of the Old Ghis, and there is only one known red desert in the Essos.”

Joffrey nodded. That was his thoughts exactly. He put a ruler on the map.

“Further than the Smoking Sea, beyond the Slaver’s Bay, in the Red Waste. Reasonably close to the coast, for a dragon to fly and die there. In the ruins of the ancient city. Qaathi, I’d say, no one else had ever built anything there.”

With the Red Comet, it gave him the time and place. Daenerys Targaryen was about fourteen now, and the girl on the pyre did not look much older. If Melisandre’s god wanted her alive badly enough to request his services, it must be pretty close.

Joffrey was probably the only person in the whole world at the moment who had the fleet, gold, and motivation required to find her. But he did not have the location and had no way to get it. It was impossible to find the person in the whole continent, especially in its depths, and before the said person will die from thirst in the desert.

One needed a miracle for it.

Funnily enough, it also was in his interests. Joffrey needed to control all of the throne claimants. If R’hllor wanted the last scion of the dragon lords bloodline alive, and Joffrey wanted the said scion under his control, they had a common interest.

R’hllor did not need to additionally motivate him. He only needed to give him the last piece of information.

“I will assemble the fleet and go to the location that you god had shown to me.” Joffrey made a pause. “You will accompany me, or will request the presence of a more competent priest.”

Melisandre did not answer. She didn’t look offended, and it was strange because Joffrey wanted to test her limits before allowing her to join him.

“The Great Other is scared of you. He wouldn’t have attacked you otherwise.”

There was something in her voice. In a way, she pronounced the title, pushed it through her lips.

Melisandre was scared. Not even scared. She was terrified. The only question was, why? By the attack?

“He is not scared of me.” Joffrey sighed. It was hard enough to believe in one god, let along two. “He does not want me to keep the last potential dragon rider alive.”

It was only logical. If R’hllor did send the vision to Daenys to save the dragons from extinction, it would be reasonable to expect him to protect the last person capable to make dragons hatch.

Joffrey doubted that the being made of ice would be glad for dragons coming back. He would’ve been pissed on his place.

“If you say so, your highness.”

Joffrey nodded.

Now he only needed to figure out how much time he still had. And if the dragons in his vision were a metaphor or explanation of the deity reasoning for him.

He was not ready to believe in the dragon's return.

\------------

Please leave the comments, I do read and enjoy them.


	18. Chapter 18

The Tower of Hand was an ancient place. A separate tower made for a man who does all the work and bears all responsibility, but makes no decisions of his own. At least that’s how it was intended to be.

In the later years, the Hand was doing both.

“How did your negotiation with the Tyrells girl proceed?”

Tywin asked. He was sitting in a chair in an empty room, ordered to clear it from everything that was left from Jon Arryn or Eddard Stark. Empty walls and empty desk, that is all that was left inside.

“Well enough.” Joffrey shrugged. “We came to an understanding.”

Tywin looked at him, waiting. Joffrey suspected the man knew the general answer, if not the details. It was not hard to guess the terms of their compromise.

“I will father no children out of the wedlock, and I will have no wedlock either way. Upon Renly's death, I will declare her children as mine, and will name them my heirs.”

Removing the very foundation of future conflict. It was a nice enough compromise, if too shaky for Joffrey’s taste.

“It will break your agreement with Martells.”

“Our agreement was about support, not the wedding. Arianne will have to settle for Lancel or any other son of Kevan.” Joffrey answered. “We will guarantee her our support in securing the Dorne.”

“Lannisters are hated in Dorne. Almost as much as are Baratheons.”

Joffrey chuckled.

“The more reasons for her to stick to her side of the deal. We will give her the throne, but she will never hold it without us.”

Tywin was silent, thinking, and Joffrey felt unnerved under his grandfather's eyes.

“You gave up the throne.”

There was no ire, no anger in the old lion words. He was calm and quiet. It did not make it any easier.

“I had prevented the war that was all but lost, and got the Stormlands out of it,” Joffrey answered. “Renly is a sword-swallower, he will never have a line of his own. With Myrcella betrothed on Arryn, in fifteen years we will have four kingdoms on our side, and no other claimants for the throne.”

“Renly had taken the throne because he had a larger army,” Tywin said. “Why do you think it will not happen again?”

“Because there will be no larger army.” Quietly answered Joffrey. “All I needed was time. Now I have it.”

Silence, deafening silence. Tywin looked tired and old. He was old, Joffrey understood. He had never noticed it before.

“What happened to your hand?”

It was freshly bandaged, ending a palm below his left shoulder. Maester had to cut off a huge chunk of frozen flesh.

“I took part in the red god's ritual,” Joffrey answered. “The Dragonstone was captured by the fanatics. Their leader wanted me to prove the purity of my intentions.”

“By sticking your hand into the fire?”

“It worked.” He chuckled. “They surrendered. I ordered every man to join the Night Watch.”

The fanatics were happy to follow his order. Joffrey was not sure what was leading them, a threat of imminent execution or their faith. It did not matter in the end.

“I don’t know if you are brave or stupid.”

Tywin would have commanded an assault and would have slaughtered every rebel on his way. And he would’ve been right, in his own way. Joffrey already tried to use Tywin’s methods in the Chyttering. The Dragonstone allowed him to try his own.

“I will need to leave. I need you to take care of the Stormlands in my absence.”

“Elaborate.”

“Daenerys Targaryen, the last of the line, was found in the Qarth. I want to take the fleet, find her, and bring her back to Westeros.”

Tywin did not answer. He looked at him, puzzled. He was expecting it to turn out to be a stupid joke.

“She might have made dragons to hatch.”

Tywin was silent.

“Did the red priest tell you that?”

His voice was cold. Every word felt heavy.

“The dragons…”

“Are dead!” Tywin barked. “No one had seen a living dragon in the last hundred years. No dragon egg had ever hatched, and trust me, Aerys tried hard.”

Joffrey sighed.

“Daenerys is still a throne claimant. Can you guarantee that no one will use her, or a girl disguised as her to claim the throne?”

“A claimant? Of whom, of the Ironborn?” Tywin looked at him. “Do not try to cover your wishes with clever reasoning.”

“She is the claimant. She can be used against me.”

“The lords of Stormlands can be used against you. They are still loyal to Renly, who ruled them for fifteen years and not to you. You have to work to secure their loyalty, not run on the other side of the world looking for Aerys' daughter.”

“I know,” Joffrey answered. “That’s why I ask you to look after them in my absence.”

“What will you do if you succeed?”

“It depends. If she will have the dragons…”

“She will have no dragons. Do not waste my time on wishful thinking.”

“Than I will grant her the Dragonstone and keep her on a short leash. No one would ever use a fake Targaryen as a claimant when there is a real one under our control."

“It will destroy your arrangement with the Tyrells.”

“It will be too late for that.”

Tywin sighed. He was old - old and tired. The return to the office in which he had served in his youth did not make him any younger. And he was disappointed. Joffrey could understand him. All of his children turned out to have some strange quirks in them.

Jaime gave up the heirdom to serve in the kingsguard, Tyrion was a dwarf, and Joffrey had a crush on Targaryens.

“You are my heir, Joffrey. I raised you, I taught you and I allowed you to waste your time in a library. It was my mistake.”

Joffrey sighed. He felt that he needed to go. He could not explain it to Tywin, he simply knew it. He had no proof other than a vision, but his whole being told him to go with it.

“Had I ever asked you for something without a reason?”

“Your boyish wish to fuck Targaryen is not a sufficient reason. Or a reason at all.”

“I pay my debts. Always.” Joffrey pleaded. “Give me two months. That is all I ask and will ever ask from you.”

Silence. Tywin looked at him, weighing the costs and the benefits. The man knew Joffrey well. He knew that he will not be able to stop him.

After all, now Joffrey had his own fleet and his own lordship.

“You will take five extra ships from the Lannisport and a household guard. In the slightest danger, you will return. If you will not find Aerys’ daughter in two months, you will return.”

“Agreed.”

“I will send Kevan with you. We fought on the Stepstones together, he knows the fleet and marine warfare. You will listen to him. If he will give you any order at any time, you will comply immediately and without questions.”

“I will.”

“This is the first, the last, and the only time I shall indulge your wishes. Upon your return, you will serve as the hand of the king. You will rule the country and strengthen the position of our house, without complaints or slacking."

Joffrey smiled.

“I will. Thank you.”

Joffrey bowed and left the Tower of the Hand. The crimson comet, harbinger of blood and fire, was burning in the sky. He had little time left.

The winter was coming.

\-----------------

And thus the second major arc of the story, “the truce of two kings” ends. Joffrey is looking for Daenerys, the Others are mustering their forces and the Seven Kingdoms are resting in a fragile peace. I will not continue it until The Winds of Winter will be published, which I hope will happen before the end of 2020.

I would love to and expect to hear some valid criticism on the plot, structure, characters, and everything else. Come on, give me some feedback, I wrote all those chapters for a reason. It was my first story written and completed in English, so I expected to fuck something up.

If you liked the story and the characters, I offer you the options for the next one in the poll. They are all AU based, centered around either original or changed canon character:

Before the Roberts Rebellion, about the younger brother of Rhaegar. The original one, not Viserys.

During the Robb’s War, about the alternative Theon.

About the alternative Aegon the Uncrowned, starting during the Aenys reign. It is right after the Conquest, the second and third generation of kings.

Before the Dance of the Dragons. A lot like Gaemon REDUX, but with the main hero being Rhaenyra’s uncle (not Daemon, original).


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